


A King Without His Crown Is No King At All

by MercyRoulette



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercyRoulette/pseuds/MercyRoulette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set pre-Hobbit but using characterizations that take both from Jackson's films and Tolkien's books, this is a little romance fanfic about Tauriel and Thranduil. It takes place sometime during the growing Mirkwood spider problem and deals with mostly internal elven affairs, but I may expand to include the happenings of the Hobbit as a tie-in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silvan Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a work in progress, and a personal indulgence. If you love this pairing, I hope you enjoy my musings. If you have suggestions, feel free to disseminate your ideas to me.

It had been a very long and disheartening day of patrolling the border. Exhaustion would hardly have been an acceptable descriptor of Tauriel's state. Even with several dozen orcs slain by her party, the border still remained unsafe. She winced at the idea of having to report this fact to her king who, although gracious to the people of Mirkwood, harbored a venomous countenance for all affairs outside the forest. Unfortunately, "affairs outside the forest" was a stipulation that fell to Tauriel, for although she had never been outside of Mirkwood, her duties dealt specifically with trespassers.

Of particular note, the elves of Mirkwood were still deep within an annoying spider problem--spiders of a most peculiar size. They were more of a nuisance than anything, though Tauriel supposed if smaller folk were to cross the creatures, they might find themselves in a fight for life. And certainly if one were caught unawares, they may be in for a spot of trouble. The patrol party took a shortcut around the spiders this evening, having suffered quite an energetic set of encounters at the border already.

Legolas, the king's son, had joined the party on a whim as he sometimes did. The prince always seemed to have a penchant for adventure. Tauriel did not mind his company one bit; the prince was quite the capable warrior and a great assist at times. He seemed cheerful and spry at that juncture, though Tauriel knew he did not have to face the wrath of his father. No, that tragic delight always fell to her. She felt a terrible disappointment to the king almost every time she reported back to him. Yet what more could she do besides the job which was assigned to her? "Captain of the guard." That title held both merit and responsibility that could not be given to just anyone. She had earned it, but at times, she felt cursed with it.

"Tauriel, a heavy burden seems upon your thoughts. What can I do to help?" Legolas asked, his tone light with the gentlest of concern.

She did not sigh, though she could have. "Ah, Legolas, It is nothing which you can help with. I simply fear reporting to your father that which we witnessed on the border this day. No doubt, he will be displeased," she answered. "Fear" was probably the incorrect word, she thought in hindsight. She was not afraid of Thranduil. She disliked disappointing him. Maybe one day soon, she could report to him, 'All is well! The border is clear, my king!'

But that was not this night. The forest was thick around them as it always was, though it seemed to grow darker by the day. The small party stayed close, breath somewhat stifled.

"Let me go with you this time," Legolas offered, "Surely with my presence, he will be more agreeable."

"You wound my pride."

"Mellon," he said with the gentleness of a falling leaf, "You know I do not mean it so. You are quite adept at breaking the news. But you look tired, and if my mere presence can grant you ease, you know you need only ask."

"And I have not asked." Perhaps the remark bit too sharply, but she did not like relying upon others to do things which were explicitly hers to do. "Every day is the same, my prince. Goblins coming down from Goblintown in alarming numbers, fording the Great River in packs. And what are we but acting only in defense? Your father is afraid to wage war and cut off the problem at its root. Not to mention the spiders--"

"You really must hold your tongue," Legolas cut in gravely, a very serious expression in his pale blue eyes. "You know how my father feels about war."

Tauriel paused, looking back at him, an equally serious expression in her green eyes. "Yes. I suppose I do."

The party continued on in silence as the darkness fell. Strangers would have a hard time finding these paths, and they preferred to keep it that way. The forest was silent as it had been as of late; as if a curse lay upon it, deep and heavy as the sleeping seas. The group was much too tired from fighting to discuss any of the matters further, so the lot of them continued on as quiet as can be. If one were wandering the woods at that hour, they would scarcely have seen the troop pass by, for how light upon their feet they moved.

It was late when they came to the halls of the Elvenking, where a single word of approach was shouted. The place was a fortress hidden in the trees. Once the last foot stepped inside, the gate went up and they were enclosed within the walls of their sheltered realm. Tauriel did not much like it. Walls. Closed off. It was too much like a cage. Though the place did have its charms. Those who had the pleasure to set foot inside marveled at the walls, tall and laden with branches, roots, and bright shadow flowers. In the hidden places, there were bubbles of water to soothe the soul where one might sit and read the old works of Arda. Somewhere in those very confines, a flute played Namáriëor Navaer. A tranquility settled upon Tauriel's heart. Maybe like a cage, but it was home. She did long for a rest.

The party marched on to the arched gates of the palace, at which point they paused for debriefing. Tauriel bid the party a thanks and farewell, and all but Legolas departed. Together, they stood listening to the music for a while. Then Legolas turned to her, a twinkle in his eyes.

"You're very stubborn, Captain."

She smiled tiredly. "Have you ever known me differently?"

He chuckled. "No. I suppose I have not. Even when we were children, you insisted upon climbing trees without my aid. And to my credit, I was far better at it."

"You cannot rely on anyone if you cannot rely upon yourself," Tauriel proclaimed with a smirk, lightly punching him in the shoulder, "I believe that philosophy has made me all the stronger."

"Perhaps. But do not forget to ask for help when it is needed. I worry about you Tauriel," Legolas put a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Are you sure you do not wish me to go with you?"

"Please," she brushed his hand aside with a wry smile, "Let me get this done with. Then I will retire. Tomorrow is a new day, and it will be a better one."

"You are right. It will be." Legolas took her hand and kissed it, "I shall see you in the morning for target practice. Ceshar, Tauriel." With a wink and a dash of his blonde hair, the prince was gone.

Tauriel sighed and trained her eyes upon the doors of the palace. They reached up into the canopy of the forest, twisted, ancient, and strong. She had done this a hundred times before. Tonight felt different for some reason. Maybe it was the onset of her exhaustion. Maybe it was simply one time too many. She had a feeling the king would be in a mood when she found him; he had been quite moody as of late. However upon entering the palace, he was not perched like usual upon his throne, gazing down through his thick eyebrows and placid but dangerous eyes. In fact he was nowhere to be found in the throne room. Once Tauriel found Galion, the king's butler, she learned that King Thranduil was within his quarters, but was expecting to make an audience of her.

She had never before met the king alone in his quarters at this time of night. In fact she had never met the king alone. Part of her sometimes incompetent feelings stemmed from when she gave reports in front of the council and citizens of the court. The whole thing was uncomfortable. Could the report not have waited until morning if it were not to be done like usual in the throne room? The butler led her through some winding halls to the king's quarters. She was always surprised by the vastness of the king's palace.

Upon arrival, Galion rang a bell and announced. "Lady Captain Tauriel to see you, O King."

"Enter, Tauriel. Galion, I bid you leave us," A voice spoke from within; a voice which Tauriel knew very well to be King Thranduil's. She did not much like the idea of Galion leaving, but he waved his hand and was gone.

Tauriel walked into the grand quarters slowly, taking note of details. The first thing she noticed was the intoxicating aroma of burning wood, mixed with a strong woodland musk. The rooms were, of course, quite large and laden with intricate woodwork and tapestries. There were artifacts a-plenty, which she could not have observed all in one evening. All were arranged on tables and shelves, including a vast library of well-kept books against the far wall. There was a silver couch with a rainbow of pillows, and a fire roared in a fire place that was much taller than her. Over it was a massive collection of mounted antlers. The room was dark but for the firelight, which illuminated the corners with a eerie glow. An archway led to the next chamber, and she walked into what was presumably Thranduil's "war room." 

There he stood with his back to her, his golden hair cascading down his back and over his silver robe. There was an empty bottle of Dorwinion on the floor, and a half-empty one next to him on the plotting table, along with a near-empty glass of wine. Oh wonderful. He's drunk, Tauriel thought to herself. But she couldn't help but observe how elegant he looked standing there in the moonlight, even with his back to her, his crown glinting like stars.

Beyond Thranduil and the table was a lovely door all made of glass that led to a balcony overlooking the forest and river, where the moon was bright and large. He truly did have the best view in the palace. And why should he not? He was the king of Mirkwood after all. Pieces were sprawled across the map, and he seemed to be gazing upon them with the utmost intensity. As if alerted by the gentle whisper of her feet, his head snapped to the side and he spun around fluidly to address her.

She caught herself blushing. He was in a bit of a disarray with his robe open to the navel, revealing his strong chest. A few scars stood out on his pale skin, mostly faded with the ages. Tauriel always had a keen sense of the strength and pain he endured as a result of his experiences in the First and Second Ages. Those scars were reminders of what he had lost. Tauriel snapped her eyes to his, realizing she had been staring for far too long, nodded and dropped to her knee in allegiance. She could not believe her own childishness for a second. She bit her lip and cursed herself. 

"My King, you have asked me to report."

"Tauriel," he said her name with slow eloquence that made the hairs on her neck shiver. "It is well that you have come. Please stand."

She did as commanded, straightening her posture and looking equally as straight ahead. She did her best to ignore his state of undress. However, it was late. She was tired. And it was incredibly distracting. The silence was absolute pain.

"Wine?" He offered simply. Wine? He never offered her wine. Well, she supposed he never really had the opportunity to. She shook her head, a bit dumbfounded. "I offer wine and you refuse it?"

"My King, I mean no offense with my refusal. I am undeserving of such fine drink," she stated.

"Ah, but your humility wounds me, Tauriel," he produced an empty glass and filled, extending the glass to her, "Please partake. I find you quite deserving."

"If you command it so, I shall."

"I do command it so."

Tauriel accepted the drink begrudgingly, knowing full-well the effects of this wine on her kind. And of course, she being of a much lowlier stature than he, would be affected more easily. She sipped slowly, intending to draw out the one drink for the remainder of her time in his chambers. This was a most odd encounter indeed. Perhaps she should have brought Legolas with her. He tilted his head at her ever-so-slightly, as though he was curious to know her thoughts. But he thought better of the question and continued forth with business.

"What news from the border?" He asked, turning back to the plotting table to pour himself more wine, and to pour over his map again.

"I am afraid that it is much the same, my King," she reported, "Larger numbers of goblins every time. They seem to be multiplying. Something is brewing."

He paused before he spoke again. This was an old conversation. They had almost fought several times about the next course of action. She had always backed down out of respect for his station. She had a feeling this was about to go a different route than normal. "What, as the Captain of my guard, would you recommend we do?"

Now it was Tauriel's turn to pause. She took a drink of the wine and a deep breath. "We cannot suffer to only defend ourselves when attacked, your majesty. We need to develop an offense. We need to attack them when they least expect it and put an end to this leaking bottle."

"Attack them?" Thranduil was spinning a finger around his glass. His head turned thoughtlessly to the side a bit, not giving her the full satisfaction of a direct address. "With what army?" There was the venom Tauriel had been waiting for. She relaxed her shoulders a bit.

"We do not need an army of thousands to accomplish this. We have plenty of skilled warriors on hand. I say we attack during the day when we are at an advantage. Bottleneck them at the Goblin Gate and draw them out. It would be easy."

"Easy?" He turned then, a deadly expression on his face, "You, who has never seen war, claim that such a battle would be easy?" Combat was a dangerous subject with the king. He had little hope invested in wars, and preferred to rule his kingdom from the inside as much as possible as a way of preventing the loss of life. He had seen too many die at the hands of the barbaric forces that roamed outside the forest.

Tauriel was nonetheless flustered. To call on her expertise was one thing. To call on her inexperience was an effective way to get under her skin. Even though she suspected he might be antagonizing her on purpose, she stalked to the plotting table and stood next to him, trying very hard not to be too intimidated by how he towered over her. She glared up at him for a moment, then put her wine glass on the surface, grabbing several pieces and lining them up respectively at the Goblin Gate. She explained her plan in detail, for she had worked it all out in her head to that point, and demonstrated to him how there would be minimal (if any) casualties.

"So you see, my king, if we were to follow this course of action, it would prevent a greater influx of enemies to our borders."

"You know how I feel about war, Tauriel," Thranduil said at the end of her spiel, "I will not sacrifice the lives of my people for the dangers of battle, unless we find our lives at stake. And if we should fail in this task, it would bring the wrath of Goblintown upon us."

"So what?" She fumed, "You're just going to wait until they bring the battle to your doorstep? Because that is what they are planning to do, my king. You will wait until a siege is laid upon your halls? How long can we afford to be only reactive when their numbers are growing? At some point, we must change our approach."

"You would dare to question my decisions and my wisdom?" His voice wavered with agitation.

Tauriel stopped and looked up at him from her flushed state. His brow was hard with a slow-building aggravation, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of inebriation and starlight. Normally, Tauriel might have given up. But she was tired of not being listened to. If he had made her Captain of his guard, and then chose to not trust her or consider her ideas, then there was no reason for her to be the Captain. She straightened her posture again, and looked him in the eye. She had to stare past his eyes, of course. The King had a magnetic stare that could burn into her soul if she was not careful.

"King Thranduil. You only want what is best for your people. I understand that. I want what's best for my people, too. But for months, I have warned you of imminent danger. This danger is now growing by the hour. Despite having made me Captain of your guard, you disregard my advice as though what I offer you is no more than what a child may tell you. Yes. I dare to challenge you in these matters. This is my job. A job that you gave me. And if you utterly refuse to allow me to do my job, then I see no reason for us to continue this discussion." She drank the last from her glass of wine, which was a poor decision because there was still quite a bit. He made no immediate reaction.

"I thank you for the drink, and bid you good evening." She bowed, and strode in the general direction of the door.

"I did not dismiss you, Captain."

Tauriel stopped in her tracks. She took a breath and she turned her head in his direction. "I am not your Captain any longer, and I do not require your dismissal," she stated curtly, raising her eyebrow. Oh, he did look quite furious now. She was somewhat happy to have gotten a rise out of him. She was also somewhat terrified, knowing that he was a force to reckon with when in a rage.

"What would you have me do?" He raised his voice, "Send my people to die? Then we are no better than dwarves."

She turned back to him. "This isn't about being better or best. This is about continued safety. And sometimes, you have to fight for it. To fight now is to save us a much more painful fight in the future."

"My decision is law," he said with a quiet grimace.

"Then let it be law, and let it be known that you are a fool," Tauriel bit back, "I will suffer you no longer, Thranduil."

"What did you call me?" His eyes flashed with all the danger of a wild beast.

"A fool. And I informally addressed you by your first name," Tauriel repeated, staring back at him with a burn in her eyes, "I will not serve and address a coward who calls himself 'king.'"

"Antolle ulua sulrim," (tr. 'much wind pours from your mouth') he spat in response, "You have a clear wish for death if you refuse my title thusly." Tauriel had crossed a line but she did not care anymore. Something needed to be done to prevent his complete lack of sensibility in these matters.

"Amin feuya ten' lle." (tr. 'you disgust me'). She began to move away more, wanting to put distance between them lest he should lash out. She needed more opportunity to react if he did so.

"Was it with disgust that you looked upon me when you first entered my chambers, kotyaer?" He shouted at her, causing her to stop with a slight tremble. She would have preferred something far more violent. She did not take emotions well. At least in combat, she knew how to defend herself. If she could not cut it or shoot at it, she was at a loss for strength and propriety. Her silence had been Thranduil's goal, for he now approached like a viper, his silken robes whispering against the ground. She felt the tingle of his fingers at the back of her neck before his grip closed on her. He chuckled in a slow, vile way that made her feel as small as a fly. 

"Get your hands off me," she whispered, not daring to look at him as he hovered to her side. He knew her weakness as well as she did, but she refused to allow him the complete satisfaction of knowing that he could have her trapped in two steps.

"I am not yours to command. But you are mine, rwalaer," he sneered.

"Do not refer to me as such." She felt warm, like his proximity had ignited her. 

"Or what? I am the king, Tauriel. Who will you run to? The Istari? The West Fold? Perhaps Beorn may have a place for you amongst his creatures?" The disdain in his words was unbearable. She could not stand for it, and needed to bring him down to a level she could handle. She could throw ill words back and forth with him all night, but in the end, he would have excelled her. This meant she would have to be the first to show her physical prowess.

"If it is my apology or my respect you wish to earn, you will not do so by insulting me thusly," she thrust her elbow into his ribs and took several steps back, drawing her knife, long hair breezing behind her steps. "Forget not, O King. I am a capable warrior. Trained and employed by yourself. I am no stranger to a fight."

This action infuriated him, but he allowed the distance for a moment. Tauriel did not want to know what thoughts now came to his intoxicated mind, but she suspected she was soon to discover them.

"Put your weapon away or I will have you cast into the dungeons. I'll not stand for such insubordinance, Tauriel. You should know better." His voice was calm, and that angered her.

"You should know better to listen to the counsel of those you hire. You do not frighten me with your words." She was encouraging a reaction from him, but she could not have predicted what he might do.

It happened so quickly that she questioned the sequence of events. She found herself pressed against the archway, Thranduil's hand at her throat and her drawn knife clanging to the floor, now rendered useless. She gasped and wrenched against his grip, despite being in such peril. It was, of course, no use.

"Then perhaps it is time to find another way," he said, maintaining his calm.

"Perhaps it is time for you to let me go and let these drunken judgments of yours dissipate with the rise of the dawn." She was feeling a bit rosy herself. His closeness felt as if he was absorbing some of the anger out of her. But the waters of Ulmo himself could not possibly put out the fire that burned inside.

"Perhaps it is time I make more drunken judgments before the rise of the dawn," he refuted.

"Perhaps it is time you--what? What in Ungoliant's hunger are you talking about?"

He was looking at her strangely. She was not sure she liked it. Her heart, still beating in an unsatisfied rage, beat more uncertainly in her ears as she looked into the carved features of his face. His eyes, an icy blue, seemed to burn like a cerulean flame in the night. He appeared both gentle and nefarious, and her instincts told her to flee. But she could not flee. She was paralyzed. 

Of all things she could have imagined happening that night, this had not been one of them. She could see receiving his anger. In fact she was quite used to it. She had walked out on him a number of times, for lesser things. But she had not outright quit as she had tonight. She was not entirely sure what had gotten into her. She was even less sure of what had gotten into him. Though perhaps the answer to that question was simpler than she imagined, she thought as she glanced at the empty bottle on the ground.

He was remarkably still for the amount of drink consumed. But he did enjoy his drink. His tolerance was in all likelihood, quite high. Hers was not, and even in the wake of that small amount of Dorwinion, she could feel definite effects.

"Ungoliant's hunger is nothing compared to the one which plagues me now," he whispered.

"Do you even understand what nonsense you are speaking? Go rest. We should continue this 'discussion' in the morning, when you have not consumed one and a half bottles of wine. Or maybe the afternoon, when you are not suffering from the aftermath of your poor decisions this eve." There seemed to have been a remarkable change in him fueled by having her pinned. From anger to something she dared not recognize.

In her mind, Tauriel retraced her steps. She was confounded regarding how she had managed to end up in this position. As a Captain, she had not done a very good job planning the strategy of this encounter. It ought to have been simple. It ought to have been ordinary. But there was a thorn in her side, and she needed to have it pulled out. King Thranduil was not allowing it. 

"We will continue this discussion this evening. With less weapons. But, after," he remarked. A sly expression grazed his face, but it was so slight, Tauriel questioned whether she had seen it.

"After what?" That caveat made her nervous. What was he planning? Or what was he not planning?

He bent toward her like a reed in a storm, his lips falling upon hers like two petals. He relinquished his grip on her throat and instead buried one hand in her red hair, his other hand locking around her waist. Her disappointment with him melted in the moment, and unbeknownst to her, his disappointment with her also faded away.

A protest tried to escape her throat, but all she could emit was a small squeak. His lips tasted like sweet Dorwinion and were tender as berry flesh. His scent was overwhelming like woodland flowers, with a hint of fire and a flash of musk. She found that she craved more of him and received his lips eagerly. Her mind listed the sins but it was not enough to stop her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him as close as she dared. He strengthened his grip on her hair and kissed her harder, biting down on her bottom lip before plunging his tongue into her mouth and asserting himself. 

She felt dizzy when he pulled away and lingered at her mouth, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his. "You've never taken a lover," he whispered, "Let it be me. Let it be your king."

"Is this how you solve things?" She whispered back, "Seduce the anger out of your aggressor?" At the same time, she wasn't fighting him. She couldn't find it within herself to at that moment, incensed by such a violent and sudden passion for him.

"Try to stop me," he continued whispering.

"We will hate each other when it's done," she trembled.

"We hate each other already."

"That isn't entirely true."

"You are right. It isn't. Help me find it."

"Help you find what?"

"The truth."

Tauriel breathed. There was a knot in her throat that simply would not come untied. She could not deny him. She knew she could not. He knew it, too. She had been hoping for an interruption; anything. Galion. Legolas. A messenger. The palace was silent, but for hers and Thranduil's breathing, which was driving her mad. 

Thranduil was not standing for her stalling techniques any longer. Lifting her, he swung around and walked a few paces. Gripping her sturdily in one arm, he cleared the plotting table with his other. Like liquid, he unbuckled her quiver and other accessories, discarding them to the floor. She did not have the time or mind to react. He spun her and bent her over the table so her face was flush with the map. His fingers dove into the lacing of her bodice, wrenching the strings free and loosening the device. She might have screamed at him were she not in such a haze. She felt almost feverish.

She tried to extract words from her throat. She couldn't. She heaved when he tossed the bodice from her, trying to collect the strength to throw him. She still couldn't. He flipped her over and pinned her to the table, gazing down into her face. He discarded his robe and stood over her.

"You want me. Do you not?" He asked softly, running a thumb over her chest. That caused her to reel. Her response was somewhere between a yes and a no, bordering on the positive. Yes, she did, but he was never supposed to know that. He seemed to delight in her uncertain frenzy. He leaned forward to kiss her again, and his fingers all but tore her tunic open in the process. She shivered when the chill air hit her skin, and trembled as his hand brushed over her bare stomach, dipping below her waist.

Every muscle in her body gave way. She temporarily surrendered, unsure of what else to do in the wake of the sensations that swept her body. She wanted to fight him, but she also craved his touch. Her breath undulated in short gasps and she could have sworn the ceiling became the floor.

"You don't have to tell me," he whispered into her mouth, "Just show me."

"I don't want to," she said in a tremor, feeling small in his gaze and hating it.

"Ah, but you do, my beautiful Tauriel. There is scarcely a woman in my kingdom who would not wish for the pleasures of her king." Each word sounded like poetry falling from his drunk lips, his breath sweet and his grip unmoving like the roots of Mirkwood. 

"I advise you to remove yourself," she responded unconvincingly, her actual desire notwithstanding.

He whispered, "No."

She was desperate. "These are paths I dare not tread, my king. You are laden with drink and not of right mind. Do not--"

He bit at her lip almost violently, as a way of silencing her. Her body went rigid when he caressed her breasts with his long fingers. She whimpered like a kitten, but in a moment of clarity, found her strength. She was perhaps not as strong as he, but she could put up a fight. She shoved him by his shoulders, causing him to relinquish his hold of her. In those brief seconds, she stood and put distance between them. She needed some semblance of a plan if she was to escape.

"Stop this madness, Thranduil," the words were catching in her throat even as she spoke them, "It suits you not." She was frightened, by a margin. It would not do well to refuse her king like this. He placed her in a most precarious position. Captain. King. She was a far cry from his station. Why could he not just fight her? Instead he spewed beautiful words and gripped her heart.

"Madness?" He repeated, looking perturbed as ever. He tilted his head at her, which was only further emphasized by the presence of his crown. "Madness is the kings of old. Madness is the dwarves of Erebor forever seeking to reclaim what they have lost. Madness is old Smaug sitting atop his pile of gold. Madness is the Laketown abiding so near dragonfire and ruin. No, Tauriel. This is not madness, as you seem to see it."

"Do not make this difficult, my king," Tauriel said quietly, holding her tunic closed with her hands in a loose fashion. She felt no shame for the unveiling of her figure. She supposed there were none more entitled than he. But that did not make it right. In fact, none of this was right.

"It is you who makes anything difficult," Thranduil refuted, "You refuse my wine. You refuse my decisions. You refuse me. Here I stand beckoning you to come to me, and yet still, still you refuse. Why does your disdain run so deep, my Captain? Have I wronged you to this night? Ever I seek your counsel."

"And ever you deny it! I appear to be nothing but a rock in your boot, my King, and I would see its removal. If ever you should question me, it is not now, for even though it means the loss of my position, I have seen to pluck my own soul from your presence to relieve you of such discomforts." Tauriel was exasperated and longed for sleep. She also wished he would dismiss her so she could collect her things and retreat to her chamber. That is all she needed; rest. Rest would make this night fade into a horrible memory.

"Regale me not with your woeful onslaught of how you are helping me, for every word you speak takes you further from that truth," his anger was coming in waves; a testament to his internal struggle with the situation.

"What would you have me do?" She cried, "I have spent hours patrolling your borders only to be chastised for giving you counsel. I am exhausted. And now you expect me to behave as just another foolish maiden, charmed by your whims and kisses, and your promises of pleasure? I am not so hollow, my King. I have no use for your beauties or pleasures. I have far greater concerns which you refuse to acknowledge. So speak to me not of how I have failed you, for it is you who has failed me; you with your cowardice and ill-wrought desires. What did you hope to accomplish here tonight? Did you expect me to blindly support your arrogance as a loyal subject does? Did you expect me to fall into your bed as a leaf in autumn, bright, warm with sunlight and ripe before the cold of winter comes? Did you expect me to lie? To admit to your decisions being righteous law?"

She continued, feeling self-righteous as ever. "I am not a pawn, my King, and I do not think you want me to be. I am a warrior. And if it is my body you wish to take, then take it, it is yours. But do not expect me to admit to such wanton pleasures. I may be a tool, but I am no man's prize. When I choose a lover, it will be of my own provision, and it will be because I love him for his callous bravery, unwavering resolve and ability to admit to his own failings. Arrogance is a poor substitute for confidence -- with all due respect, my King."

At this, the king was silent. The words clearly burned more than he might like to admit, each being quite insulting to him. But for a while, it seemed as though he pondered whether there might be some truth to her words. Tauriel was, for a moment, rather shocked with herself. She was also a bit proud. For a long time now, she had wanted to say these things to him. No one else had the courage to. Thranduil was still as the night outside. In fact it seemed that he hardly breathed, but for a few pale hairs that floated in the wake of his breath.

At first, Tauriel thought maybe she had been too harsh. Thranduil had many responsibilities, and despite his shortcomings, did a fine job of running his kingdom. The citizens loved him. He provided for them. He ruled his own darkness as closely as he dared, choosing the privacy of his aloneness in which to deal with his past. But when it came to the future, he was short-sighted and unable to take necessary risks. He also used his power to achieve his way far too often, and that disgusted Tauriel. Her beratement of him seemed to be having a prolonged effect. She shook her head and fastened her tunic as best as she could, thinking perhaps it was simply best of her to leave. She collected her things from the floor, biting her lip. 

He put up his hand to touch her shoulder and she turned only her face to look at him. Beyond the dark, swirling desire in his eyes, there was a thorn of anguish mingling with spite. She could have touched him. She could have surrendered. She could have apologized, but she would not have meant it and he knew that. It terrified her even more for some reason to know that he would not just take her and be done with it. That would have been too simple. She let him see the longing in her eyes. Tauriel knew that King Thranduil saw something special in her; he had spoken those words to her once, and only once. She cherished that sentiment, but never told him how much it drove her. Thranduil opened his mouth to speak but Tauriel shook her head and shouldered past, picking up the abandoned dagger at the archway and moving through the front chambers to the door.

Not a word was uttered from the King. No pursuit was made. She slipped past Galion in the great hall and made off into the night, feeling a mix of empowerment and disappointment.


	2. Of a Spider and a Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel contends with the emotional repercussions of being romantically involved with the King, finding herself in danger caused by her own inability to see clearly. The encounter leads her straight back to where she started, but leaves her overwhelmed in the wake of Thranduil's reckless abandon.

It was a rougher morning than she would have liked to admit. The night had found her tossing and turning in a most uncomfortable way, unable to keep her mind from her King. She was plagued with the image of him standing there in the moonlight, silent and unyielding. She was haunted by the memory of his touch, his scent, his desirous gaze. Still she rose with the dawn, disturbed as she was. 

Legolas was already letting arrows fly by the time she arrived at the practice field. The morning was chill and laden with the dredges of fog. The autumn was upon them now and she drew her scarf close about her neck to shield off the cold. She liked this time of the year, but her sleepless night left the skin around her eyes tender and icy. Her eyes watered.

"You're a few minutes late," he remarked, not removing his gaze from the target as he let another arrow go. He hit the mark, like usual. "I trust that your report last night went well?"

What could she say to him? She counted Legolas as her best friend. In fact, he was like a brother to her. He always had been. She doubted he would much like hearing the truth about the encounter with his father. Furthermore, to speak of it would certainly be a betrayal to Thranduil. But now she was taking too long to answer, and Legolas was giving her a funny look through his dark eyebrows and bright eyes.

"Fine," she said, "He was not happy. But is he ever?" She drew up next to him and focused on the target. She could feel his eyes still on her. It was apparent that he did not believe the statement. She notched an arrow and tried to focus. The morning was indeed crisp with the hint of autumn's approach, almost frosty in her lungs. She recalled that it was the day of the autumn festival, wondering whether or not she might attend. She was not feeling particularly sociable all of a sudden. She let the arrow go.

The error was small, but it did not go unnoticed. The arrow was about a quarter of an inch off from the middle of the target. There was always room for a mistake, but Tauriel's aim was rarely off. She had been practicing daily for hundreds of years. It was second nature at that point, or at least, it should have been. She winced and chalked it up to the wind, and possibly minor distraction, as she notched another arrow. She could feel Legolas watching her curiously. She breathed and focused. She released. This one was worse; probably a half-inch off. Frustrated, she heaved a sigh but tried again. This third arrow was haphazard, as though she had given up, and she still could not hit the mark.

"You are off today, Tauriel," Legolas commented, "Are you well?" He always stated the obvious, and her patience was thin in the wake of her own failure.

"Most assuredly, I am," said Tauriel quickly, "I just seem to be having trouble focusing."

Legolas paused. "If my father--"

"This has nothing to do with him!" She realized too late that she had snapped most unnecessarily. Legolas looked calm but confused. "I did not rest well," Tauriel said with a sigh, collecting her frustrations, "Something in the air. I felt unsettled."

"I feel it, too," he nodded, "A slow rise in the forces. It is as if the river swells in preparation for a flood."

"I do not think your father understands the gravity of the situation we are soon to find ourselves in," Tauriel added, putting a hand to her temple. Of course, there was a secondary prong to her dilemma, but that involved the personal boundaries (or lack there-of) between herself and Thranduil.

"Let me speak with him. I can make him understand," Legolas said, putting a hand on her shoulder, which caused her to look at him.

So much hope in his eyes. And for what? She could not help but smile at her comrade, but it was with sadness she smiled. She wanted to say, 'Your father will never understand' or 'Your father has chosen not to understand,' but it would have been folly, and it may have disappointed him. Always an advocate for good triumphing over evil, she knew that Thranduil was not entirely happy with her approach to the world. Where he would remain shut off and protected, she would fight and see the world as it once was: green and beautiful. However, in order to achieve what once was, many things would have to be risked, and many dangers faced.

"I do not believe it to be much use," she said with care, "But if you believe your words carry sufficient weight, then by all means, try."

The fog was beginning to lift, but her spirits were not. She looked back at the row of targets and felt as though they taunted her. One of the many reasons she chose not to engage in more-than-friendly affections with other elves was because she did not feel emotionally prepared for it. In fact, such feelings seemed so distant just the other night, and now here they were gnawing at her senses like a ravenous beast. There were more important things to worry about. But it was the only thing she could think about. That is to say, the memory of Thranduil's formidable and insistent advances persisted like an approaching storm. Her mind was lost to impure thoughts and it was all she could do to keep from bursting with the notions. She was growing to hate love and lust and all of these emotive diseases of the heart. They were no good to her; they only clouded her judgment.

"You should go rest, Tauriel," Legolas suggested, pulling her back from her emotional wasteland. "You have been tireless in your work. Surely you deserve to take a day for replenishment. There is the opening feast tonight; perhaps you should attend as a guest and not as security." At this, he smiled a wry kind of smile. 

Tauriel remembered the last feast she had been at, where she had to disperse a violent argument between two of the younger males. It was about as exciting as those parties seemed to get, so she wagered that even if she were working, it would be a modest evening. The idea of skipping a full day of her usual activities was unappealing, but Legolas had a point in saying she had been tireless in her work. On a normal day, she would have fought her issues and carried on as she always did. Today, however, was much different. Perhaps a short reprieve was in order.

"I don't know about the party," she admitted, slinging her bow across her shoulder, "But I think you may be right in saying I should relax. So I will."

Legolas knew better than to persist about her attendance of the festival, so he instead smiled, clapping her on the shoulder. He embraced her and kissed her cheek, before bidding a farewell. Tauriel, feeling somewhat disappointed in herself but also relieved, returned to her rooms. She could not help but notice, out of the corner of her eye, that Legolas did not return to the targets but instead made his way in the direction of the Elfking's hall.

Her chambers were a most humble abode. Like the rest of Thranduil's halls, they were carved from living stone. It was small, but an effective arrangement for a simple elf as herself. The foyer had a small table and chair, both carved from wood. Following that, there was a wide sitting room with a comfortable fireplace and an embroidered green arm chair. What few trophies she had from her adventures were collected on the mantle: an assortment of junk really, which only offered sentimental value. For instance there were a few interesting goblets, a silver plate, and a drawing of the seashore that had been given to her as a child by a sea elf traveling through Mirkwood. Over the mantle was a small portrait of her parents. Both had been killed, and she did not like to think on it. But her memories of them were fond.

Then there was a small room with a table and two chairs in front of a small window that looked out into the street below. It was not so quite fantastic of a view as the king's quarters, but it was quaint and she was happy. There were surfaces for food preparation as well as a weapons cabinet. Through the last door was her bed chamber, where there were wardrobe closets on either side of a large, plush bed which was piled with pillows. The bed was the only piece of furniture in her possession that she might have described as "luxurious."

She unstrapped her quiver and set it down with her bow and knives on the weapons cabinet. Then her eyes fell upon something strange which had not been there in the morning. On the table under the small window, there was a bundle of woodland flowers. She approached it the same way she approached something she thought might be poisonous. There was no message attached, but of course, there was only one person who might have thought to do such a thing. She was torn between feeling her privacy had been invaded, and feeling that slight inclination of soft kindness one feels when another has so secretly accomplished a romantic gesture.

Not sure what else to do as there was no one to react to for the matter, she did the next best thing and put the flowers in a vase by the window. She stood for a moment looking at them. They were fragrant and colorful; autumn flowers. They made her think of a dream she once had, but she could not recollect the details. She was never one for flowers; she certainly appreciated their beauty whenever she was amidst the king's gardens, but she would never have thought to pluck them for her own. Shaking her head, she went into her bed chamber to change into something more suitable for a day of inactivity: a pale green silk robe that belted at the waist. Her red hair lay unbraided down her back, but she donned a simple silver diadem to keep it from her face.

As to what she would spend her day doing, that was a more complicated matter. It had been a long time indeed since she had taken a day such as this. She found herself wandering the streets aimlessly for a while before she happened upon the library, where she borrowed one of her favorite scripts about the elfqueens of old. Eventually, she settled in the boughs of a tree with it, and spent the early part of the day dozing and reading with little-to-no interruption, for though the city was busy with preparation for the feast, the people were merry and focused as they went about their business.

After a while, of course, and as was bound to happen, she became excruciatingly bored. She returned the manuscript and wandered again, feeling directionless. Her wandering took her past the city gates and into the forest, someplace she rarely went alone, especially without her arsenal. She was not without protection though, for at all times she had a dagger sheathed in her boot. She knew that the days of the wandering elf-maiden were in the past. Middle Earth had grown into a dangerous place, and Mirkwood especially, being so near the Goblin Gate. Yet she assured herself that she would not venture far. Perhaps, a short walk outside the confines of the city , would ease her mind and grant her new perspective.

After a longer while however, she found herself quite a long way from the halls of the Elfking. And instead of new perspectives, she drifted into old ones, and memories. Elf dreams are not so easily shaken; Tauriel was on the brink of walking for days lost in her memories, and were it not for the darker thoughts on the edges of her mind, she may have. She was dreaming of happier days when she was small. Legolas would take her riding and they would picnic in a lovely clearing by the small river. There she would climb, at her own behest, to the canopies where she would gaze with wonder at the blue skies beyond, and the beautiful butterflies that sunned themselves up there. The forest was not so dark and oppressive back then. Some enchantment now caused it to be the way it was. 

The matter of Thranduil still lay on her like a thick fog, of course. She admitted his advances were not unwelcome. Were she anyone but the Captain of the guard, she may have even told him so. She felt it would be inappropriate otherwise, and was embarrassed to have any romantic inclination toward him whatsoever. It was girlish of her. Furthermore, there was the potential for awkward feelings with Legolas, someone whose friendship and confidence she treasured. She did not want to be responsible for causing any kind of familial rift between the two of them.

She reached the clearing in the woods that she and Legolas used to visit. It was overgrown with thorns now, and quite dark. Centuries ago, it had been speckled with patches of sun that made their way through the treetops. Now, it was as if the place was shrouded with a black phantom. The sight of it made her heart heavy. She stood in silent remembrance. Laughter. Warm light. Green world. The soft trickle of the brook.

A slight snap caught her attention, and the memory vanished. Danger. A mortal would not have heard it. Turning her head in its direction (which was straight up), she was grateful for quick reflexes and her ability to assess a situation. Descending upon her as rapid as a stone thrown off a cliff was a giant spider. She dropped to the ground and rolled, pulling her dagger from her boot. She was a fearless warrior, but she was not without wisdom. This was a far closer-quartered encounter than she would have liked and she was at a great disadvantage without her armor and long-range weaponry. She recognized that she would need to be extra cautious.

It was not normal protocol for the giant spiders to be off on their own. This one appeared to be a scout spider. It reared up on its four hind legs in an attack position, hissing. Spiders did not scare Tauriel. But with only a dagger and physical ability, she was in a dangerous position. She had not anticipated running into spiders; had she really wandered that far? At the same time, she was somewhat grateful for the excitement, strange as that may have sounded. 

The thing creaked a string of gibberish at her before launching in her direction. She batted its front legs with the dagger, and it withdrew, circling her in a spindly pattern. She turned with it, knife held out. She was always shocked at how ugly these giant spiders were, every time she encountered one. Several black eyes focused on her all at once. It reached out with its front legs, trying to grab at her. She swatted them each time like some bizarre kind of fencing match. Parry the spider legs.

The quickest way to kill a spider, of course, was the most dangerous way, and that was to get at its underside. It was a much easier feat to accomplish when the spider was dangling from its web. This one had the safety of the ground. Tauriel knew it was risky, but she thought it better to off this creature before it had an opportunity to report back to the rest of the clan. She did so detest spiders, too. She also reasoned that she had done this hundreds of times, which meant she could easily accomplish her goal.

Using a tree as leverage, she swung herself low to the ground and slid directly underneath, thrusting her dagger into its belly. It was not as quick of a death as she would have liked, for the thing began to writhe and tossed her around. She clung to the underside by her dagger, wedging it in deeper. But even as she did so, she was swung around from under and its pincers bit into her forearm. Before she could dislodge its bite, she felt a sharp pinch in her arm and cried out. She would not let the mistake deter her. Wrenching her arm back, she pulled out the dagger and drove it into the spider's eyes. Finally, it fell to the ground twitching, and died.

She collapsed for a moment next to it, breathing hard. She dared to look at her forearm, which was unsightly. A faint tingling was setting into her arm, and she knew she had been poisoned. It was only a matter of minutes now before she was rendered useless. She was scared. She was in the middle of Mirkwood quite far from home and quite far from any help. The poison was not lethal, but it would put her into quite a nice sleep for a few hours at least. That was just enough time to be picked up by goblins or spiders and made prisoner or worse.

She could not waste time. Picking herself up, she began to move quickly through the trees. It is strange for an elf, who is so agile, to have that agility taken away, especially so slowly. The poison was seeping into her veins, causing her limbs to go rigid. Perhaps she could find a safe place to sleep it off. The problem was that no place in the open wood was safe, and she knew this. Her progress began to slow. She began to panic which only caused the poison to work faster. Her breathing was rapid and labored. 

She stumbled and grabbed a tree branch to steady herself. But it was no use. Her legs were not moving. It had been centuries since she had felt this kind of fear; it had been centuries since she had felt this kind of stupidity. Her senses truly were dulled today! Just when she thought her doom was certain, a voice came from behind her.

"Captain?" She knew the voice. It was Ettrian, one of the many soldiers serving under her guardship. She must have been lucky enough to run across their scout party! He caught her just as she began to lose movement of her arms. Tauriel looked into his bright face and mahogany eyes, feeling a kind of drunk relief. She laughed uncomfortably before choking on her laughter.

"Spider. Poison." She whispered. Then, she was quite lost to the strange dreams of elves for some time.

Had Tauriel been awake, she might have experienced the exchange between King Thranduil and Ettrian when she was brought in. She would have seen something she had not outright seen in Thranduil's eyes since her time of knowing him; she would have seen fear. While the king did well to keep his calm in front of his subjects and soldiers, once the matter had been dealt with, he found himself in a torrent of anguished determination to do something. Yet it had been so long since he had "done something" that he scarcely knew how to approach the matter. Then, every accusing word that Tauriel had made at his expense from the previous night came barreling down on him, and he was angry; with both her and himself.

When Tauriel awoke from her poison-induced paralysis, she was disoriented, as most victims of spider poison are. The first thing she noticed were the bandages on her forearm. She could feel that her diadem had been removed, as well as her belt and boots. So it was only on a secondary noticing that she realized she was in King Thranduil's bed. Her immediate instinct was to leap out, but physically she could not quite accomplish this yet. A new kind of panic set in. How had she gotten here? Why was she here? Ettrian could have simply brought her to the barracks below the palace, but here she lay.

"What were you thinking?" Thranduil's voice came from the corner of the room, calm but trilling with agitation. Tauriel looked and saw him seated there, watching from a short distance. He was not wearing his crown, and he looked rather different without it. His dark eyebrows were tight and straight across his face. He appeared tranquil, but Tauriel knew that he was holding back. It was sundown, and through the doorway of his bedchamber, the dying light of day fell through the window in his war room like fire climbing across the floor. She could hear music outside, and knew that the festivities were starting early below.

"I lost myself," she said, by way of an apology, unsure of how else to address the matter. That was the truth of it, after all. 

"Clearly." There was a tremor in his voice, "You are lucky, Captain. You are very lucky."

Tauriel could not determine what Thranduil was most upset about. She did not dare to ask. She knew she did not want to be in his bed at this moment. She had not anticipated being alone with him again so soon, but here they were. She suspected that behaving in the most diplomatic way possible would be best. She was in no condition or position to challenge him like usual.

"My King. I apologize, for any worry I have caused--"

"Worry?" He rose, his golden robes draping like liquid about his slender, muscular figure. "You, Tauriel, are the Captain of my Guard. You, above anyone else, know what lies in wait in the trees of Mirkwood. Why, on my word, would you risk such danger?"

Tauriel was silent. It was true; she was well aware of the dangers in Mirkwood. But this had been an honest mistake--her mistake, which she took full responsibility for. But she would not lay there and be chastised, particularly for being so agreeable. She regarded the king as stoically as she could, distressed that in her current state, he seemed to be so angry. His seeming inability to feel drove into her heart like a nail, but she ignored it. She was feeling better, for the most part. A slight haze lingered in her eyes, but she was well-enough to stand. In lieu of answering him right away, she carefully swung her legs out of the bed and stood. She was a bit shakier than she would have liked to admit. 

"It is amazing to me, my King, that you would approach me with such discontent, and yet offer your own bed as a place of recovery. What happened earlier was an accident. I will do my best to make certain such things do not happen again. I am sorry if I have angered you." Her words were a double-edged sword as they always were. She both called his bluff and admitted where she had gone wrong. She saw her boots, belt and circlet on a chair by the doorway and made her way over to them.

She was of course, intercepted by Thranduil, who glared down at her for daring to challenge him once again, no matter how demurely she had done so. He did look strange without his crown. Much less imposing. Much less together. Tauriel in turn, felt less of a responsibility to serve him in that moment. Under normal circumstances, she might have thanked him for allowing her to stay in his chamber to recover. But she knew his reasons to be selfish. While he hid, he continued to allow evil to fester in his realm, doing nothing about it. A spider attack was such a small concern in the grand scheme of things. Tauriel did not know how to convey this to him without a repeat of the evening prior.

"I am leaving, my King, with your permission." There was perhaps an edge of dissent in her voice as she said this, which did not go unnoticed.

"I do not grant permission," he stated, his gaze lighting like a white flame.

Tauriel looked up at him and could not feel an ounce of fear. She could tell he had no idea how to handle this; in fact he had no idea how to handle her. And for that, she forgave his bitter leanings. But she could not forgive his inability to take action to prevent things like this from happening. She knew that the chances of a goblin attack grew greater by the day, and the chances of a spider attack were always a daily concern.

Everyone knew how the king felt with regards to war. The kingdom had become a closed-up fortress thanks to his fears of death and evil. He had done a fine job ruling what he had, but what would happen when the danger became too great, and overwhelmed what he had worked so hard to build? Ruin. Tauriel was afraid that without an approach as an offense, they were doomed to suffer from siege, or to be snuffed out one-by-one as a giant steps on ants. If Thranduil truly cared for her, he would have considered these matters more deeply.

Everyone also knew how unchanging the king was in his ways.

"I give you my thanks for your care," Tauriel said carefully, "What more could you ask of me?"

"Your loyalty." His voice was deep like the caverns of Goblintown.

"You have it, and you know that," Tauriel said, picking up her belt and reattaching it.

"Tauriel--"

"What ails you, my King?" Tauriel felt her time was being wasted here. "I am keeping you from your festival, and you are allowing it. Why?" She put her boots on. 

"My son came to me this afternoon. Seemingly, very concerned for your well-being. He said you had not rested well," he said.

Tauriel stopped and caught her breath. That had her attention. She had expected Legolas to talk to his father about the possibility of organizing an attack on the Goblin Gate. The state of her emotional duress, that was not something she wanted disclosed to the king. She did not wish to address it further, feeling moderately betrayed by her friend.

"It is nothing," she said, looking away from him and putting her diadem back on her forehead. Thranduil touched her shoulder and turned her to look at him. The expression in his eyes burned with the intensity of the sun.

"Is it?" He asked simply, running a thumb down the side of her neck, "Nothing?"

She felt the ecstasy of his touch course through her but she shook it off, and with that, shook him off as well, denying his effect. "It is as I have said, nothing. But I thank you for your concern." She looked at him sharply, trying to warn him off.

"In all your years of serving me, you think I am such a dullard as to not recognize a lie when I see it leave your lips, Captain?" His thumb alighted on her bottom lip, and he cursed her with a thin smile that reeked of his usual slyness. She backed up a step.

"The information relayed to you by your son was of a confidential exchange. I was very tired this morning. I had not slept. I could not sleep. These things sometimes happen when you are tirelessly blazing a trail for peace," Tauriel stated tersely. She wanted to meekly request that he not touch her; she felt powerless to stop his advances in the all-consuming wake of her desires and disgust.

"These things also happen when your heart falls into the hands of another," he extended an open palm and cradled where her neck met her shoulder. His hand was warm and inviting. 

"What are you suggesting?" She knew exactly what he was suggesting, so she was not sure why she asked. It must have been a reflex. How could she escape him now that he was looking at her so passionately? She could not refuse the merging of his hate and lustful curiosities; she wanted to know him in this way, but she was ashamed to admit it.

"Always fighting," he said softly, "Stop fighting me. Just for a minute. Let me see what is beyond your duty." He trailed his hand up to her jaw and looked at her as fiercely as she could have dreamed he would. She could not resist that; not even the strongest warrior in all of Middle Earth could have.

"Thranduil," She whispered his name as if it were forbidden for her to say so. He knew her sleeplessness was his doing. He probably liked it. But right now, the soft wickedness in his eyes said that he wanted her. She hardly had the strength to deny him. As a contrast to their previous tryst, he was gentle when he kissed her. She fell into him when he reached out, enclosing her in his arms.

Her senses were diminished, but for the pounding of her heart. She didn't know how they traversed the short space, but he was easing her back into his bed, taking obvious care to maintain an air of patience. She could not bear to leave his lips for that moment, drinking him in every time he applied pressure. He was over her, but at the same time, he was with her. She had to admit despite not wanting to, that she had spent nights longing for a moment such as this. His hair fell around her like whispering starlight. She could barely breathe but she did not want to. 

Tauriel had little desire to resist. She hungered for his touch, feeling that she could show him how much if only she were a little braver in her emotions. She could face down giant spiders and goblins at any minute of the day, and yet in the arms of her king, she was trapped. Feverishly, she rustled against him, unsure of where to put her arms. He gently wrapped his fingers around her wrists, pinning her right over her head and guiding her left to rest on his bare chest. She shuddered when she made contact with his skin, having quite the keen awareness then of just how inadmissible this encounter was.

"I thirst for you," Thranduil spoke against her lips, "Inexplicably so."

His skin was warm and soft to the touch. The fabric of his robe was as the surface of water: cool and frictionless. His scent was overpowering as it had been the night before, an infusion of deep woodland musk. She reveled in his desire. Ah, but words: it was as if the king had stolen them from her throat and locked them away in a box. Sounds escaped but they were without form; sounds of fear and pleasure melodious on the waves of dusk. He was the musician and she, his instrument. Still a single word rose to the surface in her confused bliss and she whispered, "Why?"

"So many truths you have spoken to me, and I have been a fool to not listen," he said between kisses, "Now you go and prove my rulings wrong. Tauriel, you were not lost. I am. I have forgotten what it is to be brave and reckless as you have been, evils of this world wearing me into this corner we are in. Where do I begin, my Captain? Where do I begin?"

The confused bliss sharpened and became a stabbing clarity. That was a steep confession. In fact it almost sounded like a well-rehearsed lie. Tauriel pulled away for a moment, a quizzical expression in her eyes. "Certainly not here," she stated, "Wars are not won in the bedroom, my King."

"And so they are not," he smiled, touching her chin, "But you are."

Instant fury exploded in her chest, which was a shocking contrast to her convoluted feelings of lust. If there was one thing she was not, it was a prize. The King realized too late the anger he had caused in his Captain, and she thrust him from her, standing with full resolve. She could not explain the flame that burned within her then if she tried, too incensed to do him harm for those three small words.

"I am not a prize, and to earn my affection takes more work than simple, romantic...physically romantic advances," she said pointedly, "Do not appeal to the things which worry me so with your false confessions."

"False," repeated the king quietly, "I opened myself to you..."

"With claim that I am a thing to be won!" She shivered and looked at her left hand; the hand that had been touching his skin.

"You fell into my arms, Tauriel," he approached and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders, his eyes aflame, "If anyone is being false, it is yourself!"

"I do not deserve such treatment from you," Tauriel gave him a dangerous look.

"And what treatment do you deserve? When did your station start to demand such things?" Thranduil did not seem angry, so much as frustrated. The reason was quite physically apparent.

"The moment you set your lips on me," she offered in the quietest of voices, "When you decided that I was something more to you than a mere Captain." Her last sentence, although hushed in volume, was sharp.

The King's brow softened. He realized where he had gone wrong. But even as he tried to console her, she batted his hand away, wrenching from his arms with the sort of violence that is generally only seen in quarreling lovers. She stormed into the war room. She would have kept on walking, but for something she saw on the plotting table. Sticking out of the spider territory on the map was Thranduil's knife, as if thrust into the table in anger. She looked back at him. He was standing in the doorway, quiet as ever.

"Is this how you see fit to leave me?" He asked, "Against my will, enslaved to the passion which burns inside you?"

Tauriel wrapped her hand around the dagger and pulled it out of the table with some difficulty. (It was wedged quite far in). "It is," she examined the weapon, her rage dissipating at this seemingly small, but most unusual detail. There was something there that both excited and terrified her. 

"Enjoy your party, my King," She said, laying the dagger carefully on its side. She offered Thranduil the politest of smiles, and walked out. There were a number of small things she had to consider. Being in his presence was clouding her judgment, and she needed to be certain before she reacted to his advances.

On her way out, she nearly plowed through Legolas. He arched an eyebrow at her and she paused in her steps. She knew she was probably blushed. Certainly, she was breathless by that point. She looked at Legolas with a kind of lost desperation in her eyes.

"Is everything all right?" He asked, appearing immediately concerned, lifting a hand to her shoulder which she immediately brushed aside. She glared.

"No. Thanks to you," She narrowed her eyes, noting that this evening would have progressed quite differently without his breaking of her confidence, "Remind me to never confide in you again."

"Tauriel, I was--"

"I do not want to hear your excuses! This is all your father gives to me, one excuse after another. I am tired of them. Give me something real; something tangible; something I can grasp."

"But Tauriel, I--"

"Just stop. I'm going now."

"But what about the--"

"The festival? We will see how gracious I am feeling in the next hour." She left him to his own devices, hoping that he would strongly consider what he had done. The truth of it was, she was sure he had not meant anything wrong by relaying her emotional condition to the King. Legolas was close with his father; even if he had not said anything, Thranduil would have wrestled the problem from him the minute he saw any minor reflection of trouble in Legolas's face. For that, she could not have blamed either of them. But for now, Legolas needed to keep these things to himself.

Tauriel, being uncertain of what exactly she was feeling in that moment or at the very least afraid to admit what, crossed into the streets and wandered for a good long while before settling back into her chambers. She needed to think. She needed to breathe.


	3. In the Shadow of the Moon, the Stars Blaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel takes some time to think, and attends the autumn festival, only to end a victim to the wiles of her King once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: This chapter contains sexual content. If it's not your thing, I don't suggest reading further. If it is... sally forth! ;) I'd also love to hear if you feel anything is missing from this chapter. It was a little bit of a beast in editing, and I did not want to take away from what I regarded as the "important" parts. More substantial plot to resume in chapter four!

The sitting was a special kind of agony that she would never have wanted to admit. And the thinking, well, that was even worse. The memory of his skin was burned into her mind like a brand and recalling his placid yet somehow zealous gaze caused a fire to rage within her like she had never experienced before. It was as exhilarating as, or possibly more than, the annual hunt.

Only on the rare occasion did Tauriel feel inclined to drink of her own volition. That evening found her with a goblet of Dorwinion, if only to calm her nerves. In between sips, she took deep breaths. She seemed to be trembling with a kind of aftershock. Between the spider attack, her romantic encounter with the King, and the consequent fighting, she felt a combination of exhaustion and keen awareness that begged to be satisfied. Inwardly, she scolded herself for her weakness and girlish passions.

The position of that dagger, though... it was the first time she could think of that the King may have lost his calm; the first time, at least, in the time she had known him. She could scarcely imagine him reacting so violently, but what else would explain it? Did he, then, care for her deeply enough to lose control and collapse into callous decisions? Was she so blind as to regard his affections as meaningless, when in fact, there was something there? But it could not be; she being of such lowly station in comparison. How would the wood elves accept their King's leadership if he were to become so involved with one who was mere steps from a servant?

Tauriel could spend days with these thoughts. She had rarely had the idea to be anything more than what she was. Her service was more than sufficient. She was skilled. She had zero cause to consider the affairs of the heart, because it had nothing to do with her duties as head guard. Now, she could not take her mind from the idea. What if in secret, she and the king could have this liaison with the understanding that it could not be anything more?

This was nonsense to consider. She felt wild and out-of-her-head. The statement about winning her in the bedroom was a distant, bitter memory already. All she wanted was to go back to him, apologize for her shrewish behavior, and resume that sensual meeting with no interruption of idiotic words. Whether she wanted to admit to it or not, she felt a connection with her King, and a strong desire to explore it. Her pride disagreed with the idea, and while it did not have complete sway over her, she could not bring herself to obey otherwise. She felt she needed a distraction. The party would be a good distraction, she convinced herself. Also she might appease Legolas and reconcile her harsh grievances from earlier. There, she could dance and drink, and forget. It had been a long time indeed since she had done such a thing.

After a great deal more of self-convincing, which became less difficult under the influence of the alcohol, she finished her wine and went to find some more suitable party wear. Unlike other elves, her closet was home to simpler and more practical items, namely military garments. But she did have a few things for special occasions such as this one. The dress she selected was plain and form-fitting, the color as a deep evening sky in the west. The fabric was liquid, like the King's robes. She felt strange in blue, stranger still in such elegant attire. She selected a simple, silver, leaf-shaped pendant with a star in the center. Her hair, she let fall from its braids, placing a star on her brow which was customary for residents of the woodland.

Looking down into the street from her small window, she saw a few of her folk passing by with goblets, their capes glimmering like magic in the low light of evening. Heavenly music flowed from the distance, and she felt inexplicably drawn to it, her warrior senses at rest but still on alert. She glanced a bit forlornly at her bow, but felt safe enough with her boot knife hidden against her leg. Still imbued with a sense of trepidation, she exited her quarters.

When she arrived at the party, things were well under-way. Indeed it seemed that hardly a soul noticed her arrival, save Ettrian, who greeted her with a stiff embrace and a handshake. He looked at her, his eyes warm and mulled with Dorwinion. 

"My lady Captain is well?" He inquired. His garments were glittering green, but he was still armed which affirmed her suspicion that he was providing security for the event.

"I am, thanks to luck and you, Ettrian," she answered with a smile. 

Thranduil's woodland parties operated on various levels. For one, if you had any understanding of hierarchal socio-politics, the parties were quite pretentious and even a little laughable, which was dependent upon one's stance. For Tauriel, this was of no concern; she was located at such a low tier that it mattered not. On that note, if you were more of a common wood elf, Tauriel understood that the parties were quite enjoyable. Food and good drink at no cost, and of course, delightful, rousing entertainment. The enjoyment of elvish music was not restricted to its namesake, but was enjoyed throughout Middle Earth. Under the rare circumstance that a non-elf was to partake of a woodland feast, the report was that such parties seemed a dream. On occasion a man or two would be visiting from Laketown, and they always awoke disoriented. Whether it was from the wine or the atmosphere, Tauriel knew not. She simply knew the words of their stories, for she often had to lead them on safe paths back towards Laketown.

She found the tables which were laden with food. She helped herself to a modest portion, dining in the shadow of a tree and observing the party. Conversation was riddled with light laughter, and the music undulated like a midsummer breeze. Some elves were dancing, but it seemed the lively portion of the evening had not quite come about. Normally, Thranduil could be seen perched upon his throne with a glass of Dorwinion. Tonight, he was not there. 

Arching a brow, Tauriel finished her food and sought out another glass of wine. In her travels, she came across Legolas who was already quite in his cup, but still looking stately in a pale blue frock with a silver circlet across his forehead.

"Tauriel! It is well that you have come!" He clasped her shoulder and embraced her warmly. 

"My Prince, I am sorry for my brashness earlier--" She began.

Legolas waved off her apology, "My friend, it is I who should apologize. I betrayed your confidence to the King. Whether he is my father or not, I was not thinking. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." He smiled, eyes sparkling.

Tauriel offered a very small smile in response, "But of course."

Legolas's laughter was as silver bells. "With that, will you oblige your Prince with a dance? It is the least I can do to make up for my own nonsense."

"It would be remiss of me to decline," Tauriel said, curtsying awkwardly and taking the hand he presently offered. She did not feel nearly intoxicated enough to be dancing, of course, but it would be rude to deny the prince. 

She was not the most beautiful dancer, but she treated a dance the way she treated a battle. The footwork was similar, and the motions still had to be fluid and rhythmic. That made it a measure easier. To her good fortune, the dance was a short one, ending with a sweeping bow from the Prince, who then twirled her in his own laughter, setting her free to the direction of the wine.

She helped herself to a large goblet and drank half of it down, before she noticed him.

King Thranduil was watching the party from a balcony high up. His crown of autumn leaves flashed like fire in the moonlight, and his face was grim as usual. In his left hand, he swirled a half-empty glass of wine. Merlot-colored velvet robes fell around his feet, backed with rust silk. She wondered if he saw her, but imagined in the swirl of the crowd that he probably did not. For that she was somewhat grateful. 

"Ada is not himself tonight," Legolas commented, joining her observation. Tauriel quickly turned her gaze from the King to her wine.

"I was wondering why he was not down here atop his throne as usual," she remarked, watching her Prince's face carefully. He seemed to genuinely have no thoughts on why the King might be distressed. For that, the Captain was relieved.

"You know how he is. He falls into these pits of despair from time-to-time. Thinking of the old wars and all of the loss that was suffered then," he said, smiling sadly. It was true; the King often lost himself in sad memories. He blamed himself, of course, which was unfair. But once a being finds himself in such a mindset, it is near impossible to leave it.

"You know there is nothing to be done," Tauriel replied, sipping her wine and looking at the King again. She felt a faint blush in her cheeks, but it was too dark for anyone to notice.

"I think there is," Legolas said quietly.

Tauriel looked to him with a sudden sharpness and did not like the countenance she saw. Legolas's eyes glimmered, and a slight smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. The smirk was quite reminiscent of his father's own sinister expression.

"What?" Tauriel blinked, her heart pounding. Did he know? Then it occurred to her. Had he drawn conclusions about her, based on the state she had been in while taking her leave of King Thranduil earlier? Had she thought on it more, beyond her obvious befuddlement, she might have been more fearful of discovery.

Legolas laughed then. "More wine, of course!" He pulled a jug from the table and put it in Tauriel's arms. She was a little dumbfounded and numb from the fear that now subsided. "Go, bring it to him, and do not return until he has consumed at least half of it!"

"But my prince--" She began to protest, but he clapped her on the shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

"What? Are you afraid of a little fun?"

To that, Tauriel had no answer. 'Fun' was an operative word that had her feeling skittish, particularly with regards to the King. Still, royalty was begging her to run an errand, and he had no idea at what cost. Nor could she let him be aware of that cost. So, she forced a smile, took a breath, and made her way into the palace.

Finding her way to the King's quarters was easier than she imagined. When she arrived, a fire was blazing, but he was nowhere to be seen. She investigated the long shadows of his rooms, but could not find him. Thinking she had managed to escape another awkward encounter, she set the jug of wine on the plotting table, but was struck by the view. The stars were brilliant as the moon had not yet risen to dim their splendor. She stood by the door to the balcony and gazed upon the sky in wonder, marveling at Varda's creations, bright and ethereal. 

"You are the last I expected to see here."

Tauriel turned around abruptly to see her King entering from the exterior. He had not been in his quarters after all. In his Kingly raiment, he was imposing and somewhat terrifying. Having quite an impressive height at the start, his autumn crown made him seem even taller. Of course, Tauriel was short for an elf, because of her Silvan heritage. She resisted the urge to fall to her knee in submission, feeling inferior but unwilling to give him the satisfaction. He walked toward her with a kind of deliberation.

"Your son sent me with provisions," she gestured at the jug upon the table, "I suppose he was concerned for your absence."

"Ah so you are here on errand alone," the King stated, folding his hands behind his back. His approach had been slow. Now he looked down upon her, his brow set but soft. 

Tauriel had no real desire to converse further with him. However, with the alcohol in her veins, her vision felt hazy while her senses were sharpened. She could have bid him good night, but she found her mind in a state of pity for the King. Always there was a great darkness on his heart that he never seemed able to reconcile. Feeling the need to comfort his silent brooding, she touched his shoulder and he looked at her in surprise. "Tonight is a night for celebration, my King. Do not let sadness sully what merriment has been mustered by your good people."

"Hm." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as though he found her consolation amusing. "Be thankful you have not suffered as I have. I alone bear the burden of the past, so that the ones I rule may move towards the future." 

"There is much to look forward to, my King," Tauriel said, tilting her head. She felt rosy in the cheeks. She also felt brazen; a quality she had been lacking in his presence earlier that day. She knew it was a recipe for disaster.

His eyes flickered and he paused. "Have a drink with me," he said. Although she had suspicions that accepting could be her undoing, she also had suspicions that it might lighten his mood to drink in the company of another. She could only oblige the request.

With a silent toast and a concentrated meeting of the eyes, they both drank their glasses down. There was silence. They gazed through the balcony door at the sky beyond, each fearful of his/her own urges. Both were lost in thoughts; whether they were similar or not was left to be determined. For Tauriel, she was indeed feeling bold, and she wondered at that strange resurgence. She was still angry for Thranduil's verbal mistake, but in that moment, it seemed inconsequential. She thought about voicing her thoughts, but Thranduil broke the silence first.

"You are difficult," Thranduil said, "In many ways. And I want you to understand that I hold you in the highest regard because of that."

"My King?" She was surprised at the compliment.

He cocked his head, "Where others might nod their heads with my every decree, you would offer me a new light. What I said earlier; I did mean my words, Tauriel. I am lost. I know not how else to express such things, having been this way for so long."

Tauriel could hardly believe the forgiveness that was coursing through her veins. Perhaps it was related to the wine. She could also not believe that Thranduil would open to her in such a way. Looking in his eyes revealed that this was not a game; it was an honest confession. She felt the need to make some kind of apology in light of that knowledge, and so did. "I was brash with you, my King. I need to learn my place. I need to trust you. The truth of the matter is that I respect you, and wish to see your every success."

"I do not apologize often, my lady Captain," King Thranduil shook his head, looking remorseful, "But in this case, I must--"

"Do not, my King." Tauriel's heart raced when he looked at her. She feared she might burst with the next idea that took hold. "Apologizing is terribly unbecoming of you."

"Might you consider addressing me less formally?" He asked, radiant with drink and starlight. She could not stand his proximity without giving some ground to her desire. 

"You frighten me, in ways I could never imagine," Tauriel stated, resisting the urge to touch his silken hair, "I, who have faced down the ugliest of beasts. And yet in your presence, I am rendered speechless. Here I stand trembling before you. I am--" She breathed sharply, "I am so uncertain of you and my own inclinations. I am so uncertain of what proprieties I must obey or abandon. It is doom for your position, and for me, exile as a worthless harlot."

"I cannot let the restrictions of the society I have built keep me from what I desire," King Thranduil answered, reaching towards her face but not making contact.

"But where does it leave us?" She asked. Down below, the music became more raucous. They were into the lively part of the night. But the music did not matter. She could feel his breath, and she wanted to partake of it.

"Doomed. But I care not," he said, narrowing his eyes. 

"You would drag me into your despair?" It was a frightening idea.

"I would have you lift me out of it," he dropped his hand. That was maybe an even more frightening idea, but she did not sway on account of fear. "But I am keeping you from the feast. You should go enjoy it." 

She could feel her pulse quicken. The newness of this sudden-found romantic recklessness terrified and excited her. "Everything I wish to enjoy is before me," she whispered, looking at him in the darkest of her yearnings.

He took a moment, it seemed, to make sure he had heard correctly. But he had heard correctly, and Tauriel trembled when he closed the short remaining distance, hope flickering in his eyes like she had never seen before. He lowered his lips and she stood on her tip-toes to meet him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he wrapped his around her shoulders. The heat of his embrace was more intense than the sun itself. She beckoned him to take her through aspiring lips.

"Tauriel," he murmured. They stood for several short minutes, lips lustfully entwined with a mutual understanding and carelessness for the danger they could find themselves in. But this they had done, and it was time to move beyond the simplicity of a mere kiss. Thranduil lifted his Captain in his arms, carrying her across the cold, stone floor, where they collapsed into his bed, a swirling mess of shimmering fabrics and hair. He touched her as if she were a rare and beautiful artifact, returning always to her lips and remaining silent, but for his murmurs of passion.

"My King," she slithered from his arms to stand by the bedside, and took another deep breath, "This is the gift I would give you." She felt completely intoxicated, though whether it was from the Dorwinion or Thranduil's presence, she could not be certain. Her boots she thrust aside in haste, her boot knife chiming upon the stone floor. Thranduil propped himself up on his pillows, looking at her through sly, dark eyebrows. She turned from him shyly, touching the watery texture of her dress. Mustering what bravery she could, she unlaced the gown and let it fall.

The King gasped.

"Come to me. I want to see you," His voice was nearly a purr. She paused, feeling frightened all of a sudden. Second thoughts ran rampant. Was she really doing this? And why? To give into such reckless abandon was a trait most uncustomary to her.

Thranduil must have sensed her fears, for he rose from the bed, leaving his velvet robes behind. He put a hand on her waist, and kissed along her neck to her shoulder, his own hair wisping along her back. She shivered. 

"Do not fear me," he whispered, turning her to face him. Sensual and patient, he trailed his fingers from her collarbone to her hipbone, at which point she gave a shuddering cry. His gaze aflame, he bit her lip and backed her up to the bed, where he thrust her down upon the soft covers.

"Thranduil, I fear the consequences of this night; I fear you," she whispered back, even as he unbelted his tunic. His face became gentle then.

"Oh my beautiful Tauriel; you who are fearless in the presence of giant spiders and horrible goblins. Surely I am not so horrible to look upon, nor quite so deadly." With that, his robe dropped, and she gripped the bedding at the mere sight of him.

"My King," the words left her in a rush and she felt dizzy. It was not the end of that feeling. He was upon her in mere moments, pinning back her wrists and fiercely kissing every inch within reach. She found herself babbling incoherencies, losing her sense of direction. Even though he released her wrists, her arms were sprawled over her head, as useless as sword handles without blades.

"Touch me," he murmured in her ear, "I am yours as you are mine. Touch me." 

She had little idea of how to fulfill the request, but it filled her with an eerie delight to hear him state that he was hers. She cared not if it was for a night or an eternity; the night would be her eternity. She ran her trembling fingers over his bare chest and stomach, and was pleased at the resulting rumble in his throat. How long had it been for him? Surely, it couldn't have been that long. She closed a hand just below his hip, and he faltered with a sharp intake of breath. With her other hand, she traced a line over his thigh.

He seemed as delirious as she was, and while drinking her breath, brushed his fingers over her breasts and down over her stomach to dip between her thighs. She arched and whimpered as he did so, but he soothed her into his touch by stroking her hair. He broke from her lips and gazed into her eyes, allowing her a moment of breath before he broke the barrier with a single finger. Tauriel was surprised at the suddenness of the feeling, her natural urge causing her to shove her hips against him as if begging for more. But the King was patient - or perhaps, just a little cruel. While she grasped at his shoulders, blinking back the white heat of the moment, he kissed her again and moved his finger ever-so-gently.

Although not otherwise a very notable change, the slight movement caused a lightning-like sensation to pulse through her, starting at her center and radiating out. She had no control of herself, moaning and flexing; wanting both to deny him the right to do this to her and to surrender to him completely. He enjoyed his rule of her, stroking each moment as if he thought she was not in dire need of him. The problem of course, was that she was.

She knew he would not quickly oblige her, so she attempted to take the matter into her own hands. She thrust her fingers forward to take a hold of the impressive extremity which now taunted her from between his legs, but was knocked back. She found her wrists pinned once again by one of her king's arms as he aggressively drove his finger into her, holding it there and looking upon her with the sternest of expressions.

"My lady wishes more of me?" He asked, that subtle wickedness alighting in his eyes.

Her pride begged her to scoff and be done with him. But her dark need for sensual satisfaction had full control and despite her usual nature that did not involve begging, she felt rather demanding. "I want all of you," she murmured feverishly.

He dispelled soft laughter, and gifted her with another finger. 

"Eru!" She cursed, struggling against him. But he would not let her up, and instead made his movements painstakingly slow. She might have otherwise wept for the torment, but all she could muster was an incoherent rage that increased the might of her struggle. Thranduil was both wiser and more experienced, particularly with matters of the bedroom. 

"Patience will be rewarded," he whispered in her ear, closing his teeth on her earlobe and kissing along her neck.

"Please," she begged, thrusting her hips against his hand.

"When I say," he said, bending his fingers and stroking. Tauriel nearly wailed; a sound which was quite unbecoming of her. But Thranduil delighted in the sound and repeated the motion to elicit a similar response.

"Please," she begged again, the heat of her own skin against his bordering on unbearable.

"To what end should I 'please' you, Captain?" With a third finger, he traced her most sensitive skin. If he hadn't a firm hold of her, she might have launched him from the bed for it. Her violent reaction did afford her to gain control of her hands once again, however, and she sat up to wrap her arms around his neck, forcing the depth of his two fingers.

"Show me your hunger," she demanded with the ferocity of a wild thing, her eyes flashing like a storm.

Thranduil wrestled her back down beneath him. She fought the entire way. Still, he granted her another finger begrudgingly. With a smug countenance, he enjoyed the way she softly roared his name. But he refused her the pace she pleaded for, determined to keep control. Minutes passed. She struggled.

"You are young. You may yet learn to command your passion," he traced her jaw and kissed her again, his fingers in steady rhythm.

"Maybe I do not wish to command it," she rasped. The contrast between them was like oil plunged into water. He, the water, was wise, calm, and encompassing; She, the oil, was baseless, slippery, and ephemeral. Tauriel felt that Thranduil did not understand the urgency of the situation, but she was made to obey his movements. She thought it typical of him, yet there was little more she could do than to flounder in his wake.

Just when she thought she could fall into his rhythm and accept it, his eyes flashed at her again and he drove into her at a shocking pace, as if in punishment for her wanton supplications. Her breath caught in her throat. She ground against him as much as she could, her face contorting in some kind of satisfied pain. She thought she grew tighter with the seconds, but swore it was her imagination. Just when she thought she might burst, he removed his fingers and left her to linger on that edge for what seemed an eternity. Tauriel gasped in frustration, color flaring in her cheeks indicative of the frustrated rage that rose within her. 

Her green eyes blazed when she looked upon the king, while he simply resumed a smooth expression of controlled liking. They spoke to each other through their eyes. She screamed at him for his egomania. He was laughing in a steady way, drunk with power. She resisted his control, then, exerting full force upon his arms that tried to hold her down. Having not applied full force prior to that moment, she did manage to uproot his hold of her. His collected confidence of the situation diminished when she clawed her way up his shoulders and thrust her weight against him. He toppled over into his silken pillows and she flew to arrest him, providing the same courtesy he had given her by pinning his wrists down.

Surprised, but not entirely opposed to the idea, Thranduil looked at her with a curious expression as she perched upon his stomach, as if to say, 'Now what?' The truth was, she had not thought that far ahead. She did not believe she would have taken control so easily, and now looking at Thranduil's face, she felt he had allowed her to claim the momentary victory over him. He smiled as if he could read her thoughts, and shifted his body underneath so that she fell flush with his chest, her lips falling against his.

He bit at her lip, and they both slid against each other, relinquishing the feel of flesh on flesh. For quite some time, their lips were engaged as they enjoyed the simple contact of skin. In an exploratory manner, one of Tauriel's hands drifted down his side to the part of him which had remained untouched to that point. She took a hold and felt warm when he rumbled sounds of approval into her lips, pushing into her hand as she had pushed against his fingers. With his free hand, he stroked her red hair, encouraging her to please him. But even as she clasped the length of him, she felt she was only biding her time for the inevitable. Thinking of it brought her out of the moment, although the King was otherwise absorbed, and she began to shake.

At that, Thranduil carefully removed her hold of him, sitting up to look into her eyes with the most tender of expressions. She looked back at him with hardly a breath, shivering. He enfolded her in his arms, kissing her again with a murmur. Then he eased her back upon the pillows, stroking her sides over her hips to her thighs, which he separated before him, kneeling in between. He leaned over her, platinum hair tickling her pale skin in the candlelight. She furrowed her brow as he looked upon her.

"Thranduil," she breathed, "I don't know that I can--"

"Sh," he interrupted. With a moderate and encouraging smile, he kissed her deep as the caves of the Misty Mountains. Lost in the romance of that moment, Tauriel was ill-prepared for his abrupt entrance of her. Perhaps he had planned it so. Regardless, an equal amount of pain and pleasure coursed through her veins as he filled her in one quick motion, causing her to all but shriek into his lips, writhing as though she were being impaled. Although he still sought control of the situation, it was clear that the moment had forced him into a haze of pleasure as well. He groaned, gripping the bed, trying to steady himself from collapsing into her.

"Tauriel," he gasped, blinking and catching his breath. It took him a moment, but he was able to shake it off faster than she did. She whimpered his name, struggling underneath as waves of heat overwhelmed her body. 

At that, the King collected her into his arms, partaking of her lips, rocking back and plunging again. The sound that left her was not so shrill, but was just as present. He repeated himself slow and deliberate, steadily in and out. She clung to him as he did so, dizzy and somewhat besieged, lost in his kiss and earth-shattering ministrations. She felt as if she were fused with him, every sensation lifting them higher toward the heavens. They were breathing the same air, and she felt as a gentle, rising fog pushed upwards by a draft from the river.

She would have fallen from him if they did not embrace one another so tight, and she wondered at her convoluted feelings of being simultaneously lost and found. The Valar themselves could not have granted her so much pleasure as her King now did. They labored together, unaware of anything outside of his bed chamber for that moment, unyielding to any outstanding hierarchy or probable judgments. Yet outside, the stars burned over the music of the autumn festival, while something fell began to brew in the west. 

Tauriel's senses were heightened. With every breath, she partook of the universe. With every gentle shiver of Thranduil's fingers on her skin, her wild urges were even less contained. Her hips swayed in ritual dance, accepting the measure, but open to a change in step. So rhythmic was their breathing that it created a music of its own, accented by his low groans and her sharp cries. She wept for the beauty and the pain; he surrendered to his longing. 

His lips broke from hers, and they connected eyes. His were ardent and profound, as if he had discovered a piece of himself he thought lost. He spoke a thousand things without uttering a single word, and she was overcome by his passion. She whispered a meaningless jumble that was meant to be something, but became confused in the utter majesty of her King. She swallowed hard, her body undulating in his onslaught.

"More," he urged in a husky voice, and before she could consider the request, he had thrown her back underneath him, pinning her by the shoulders. His silken covers felt like heaven beneath her back, his quickening penetration as unfathomably intimate as Varda's unity with the stars. Although enslaved to the physical portion of their ritual, she was perplexed by the mystery of their connection. It felt as the fulfilling of some secret prophecy by the divine. 

Tauriel rolled against him, moaning his name in a pyretic fit for what seemed like hours, hands gripping his bed for some kind of purchase. Thranduil was merciless, accelerating beyond his thirst, possibly beyond her limits. He growled, feral and unable to manage his overarching calm. He gave into her; he gave into himself. Appetite seemingly insatiable, he gritted his teeth, his impact both iron and strenuous. Tauriel, however conquered, felt that she was about to fall over a cliff, taking everything and anyone with her. As such, she felt a desperate need to warn Thranduil, but the words all escaped in a disjointed manner.

"Thranduil," she nearly choked on her own breath, "I--I am going to--"

"Amin sinta, A'maelamin," he whispered back, kissing her and staring back down into her eyes. 

"Amin lava," she cried out in response. She became immobile while her nerves shattered under his advances. Even though she crumbled within her locked body, she could feel her subconscious rising to another level as Thranduil sought to contrive his own release. Spasmodically, he gripped her shoulders while cursing Eru and gave in, drifting to join her.

He buried his face in her neck, as gasping as she was, and wrapped one of her hands in his tightly. The laughter and music from down below was still distant and unimportant. The scope of Tauriel's mind was blank, but brilliant as a snow-covered peak. Their breaths were as the wind. She could feel him within her, and atop her. He was warm and comforting. Her pulse ran hot like liquid fire. An eternity seemed to pass before their breathing decrescendoed into silence. He dropped to her side. The heat was fading, and the chill of the night was pressing upon them, so he lifted the covers, drawing them over and cradling her in his embrace by some way of protection. She kissed him in return, and opened her eyes. She had not even realized they were closed.

Thranduil was sullen and content, his eyes a tranquil blue like she had never seen before. Brilliant moonlight now cascaded into the room, and Tauriel could smell fire which mingled with his sweet scent. She touched his face. "Are you real?" She whispered.

He smiled amorously, bright as the dawn, soft as the northern sky. "You are most gracious with your gift, darling Tauriel."

Tauriel blushed a bit at that. "You know that I lack experience in these areas--"

"You were perfect. Take comfort and know that your gift was not wasted upon me." Moon shadows softened his face; green youth was in his eyes.

"I did not think it would be." She smiled, radiant and satisfied.

"Will you stay till morning?" He asked, stroking the side of her face.

"If my King commands it, so I shall."

"I am asking," He tilted his head and regarded her, "Does my Captain wish to?"

"More than anything," she whispered.

He searched her eyes, and it was clear that some important matter had crossed into his mind. He did not voice it, whatever it was, and Tauriel was too exhausted to question him. He tucked her head under his chin and stroked her hair with a sigh. There was much he wanted to say. There was much she wanted to say. But she needed to restore her own cog naissance. And he needed to organize his thoughts.

"Good night, then," he murmured in her ear. She simply smiled, closed her eyes and nestled into his arms. Despite some minor fears of being discovered in the King's chamber, she felt safe. She felt a strange sense of completion. Thranduil stroked her hair, and she could feel the sleep state overcoming her. She welcomed it, secure in the embrace of her King.

Unbeknownst to the King and the Captain, a darkness was brewing in the West, even as the dredges of the autumn festival trickled into the late hours of the night. Below, Legolas wondered at the disappearance of his friend, but thought it best not to question Tauriel. Instead, he wandered off to his chambers, intoxicatedly singing a happy woodland tune.


	4. Attack On the Water Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rude awakening by an even ruder host of intruders! Thranduil's hall is under attack, and Legolas and Tauriel set out to lead the field-attack. Thranduil tries to sort through some of his emotional problems with battle, and his relationship with Tauriel continues to bud.

It was the small hours of the morning when the horns rang out in harsh interruption of the approaching dawn. Tauriel and Thranduil both started awake, still tangled in each other. They scarcely had a moment to recall their surroundings when they both heard the sound of footsteps plummeting into Thranduil's chambers. There was nowhere to run to before the owner of the steps would reach the bed chamber, so Tauriel hid her face against Thranduil's chest in hopes that it would be too dark to see who she was. Thranduil was slow to wake, but seemed less concerned about the matter, his movements bordering on drowsy. He draped a hand over her hair, trapping several strands with his fingers.

"My King, I apologize for the intrusion," came Ettrian's deep voice as he entered the room, "But there has been an attack on the water gate and the Captain appears to be missing."

The sentence hung on the air for a moment, awkwardly, Tauriel thought. 

"Captain Tauriel?" Ettrian asked into the shadows of the room. Tauriel should have known there was no mistaking her red hair, even in the dark, and especially to the keen eyes of an elf warrior. The King did not panic, but his muscles went rigid.

"You are mistaken," King Thranduil said quietly. Tauriel did not need to see his face to know the stern and warning expression he now displayed. 

"Surely," Ettrian faltered in the shadows.

"Secure the water gate; send all available elves. I myself will find and dispatch the Captain," Thranduil ordered.

"Yes, my King." With that, Ettrian was gone, footsteps fading into the deep halls of the palace.

Tauriel lifted her face to look in Thranduil's eyes. He set his jaw.

"You needn't trouble yourself. Ettrian is loyal and will not betray," came his assurance.

"I am less worried about discovery, and more worried about this attack," Tauriel answered. She left him to find her boots and dress, which she was able to get on very quickly. The air was chilly, but it refreshed her. She had no time to consider the ramifications of Ettrian seeing her in bed with the King; she would have to think on it later.

"You are in charge of my forces because I trust your judgment," Thranduil said, rising from his bed. Tauriel was still impressed at the sight of him, but she could not think of pleasure right then. A battle was about to ensue. She was remembering the sting of his words from the night prior, which had deflected her insistence that they would soon be attacked.

"I hope that you will give more credit to my words after this fight," she said seriously.

"Tauriel--" Thranduil smiled a bit, as if her words were taken in jest. He placed a finger under her chin and looked down into her face.

"My King," she flashed him an expression, knocking his hand away, "I warned you this day would come. Do not think that our intimacy changes anything about our professional relationship."

"Oh, but it does," Thranduil refuted, narrowing his eyes, "It changes everything." His lips brushed hers again, brutally tantalizing. A weakness formed in Tauriel's knees, to which she did not cave. But she leaned against him for a brief moment, their noses touching. Her eyes flickered open to his, which were searching with a startling intensity.

"I will see you on the battle field," she said as straight as possible. She turned on her heel and whisked through his chamber. He stood for a moment, grasping the air of momentary rejection, as if he longed for her even in an absence of a few seconds. Exiting, she saw Legolas emerging further up the hallway, and though he called her name, she pretended not to hear. She was still breathless and flush from the kiss. She ran to her chambers for proper garments, an expert at clothing herself with haste in battle attire. Mere minutes passed before she was racing out the door with her knives at the ready.

The water gate could only be accessed through the bowels of the halls, but there was a good vantage point just below Thranduil's quarters. In an effort to assess the situation, she headed there first. Firelight flared from resident quarters as everyone awoke from drunken stupor to the sound of chaos below. Tauriel did not have time to do any social damage control and stormed into the palace past Galion, who was consoling some wailing servants. 

From the balcony, she gazed down at the one other entrance to Thranduil's fortress that she knew of, which was really only used for the delivery and receipt of goods. Her heart went into her throat when she gazed down below. A wooden floor had been hastily assembled across the water, much like a dock, to span the entrance. On either side, hordes of goblins were spilling in with their harsh tools in an attempt to disassemble the water gate. 

A group of archers fanned out on the balcony beside her, guided by Ettrian who immediately gave them the signal to loose their arrows. "Captain!" Said the elf breathlessly, "I have a party up here for aerial attack, and a party below in the cellar ready in case the door should give way. What else would you recommend?"

"Is there a way to get behind them?" Asked Tauriel, looking down on the horrid faces of the attackers. A black hate spread within her.

"I have a thought," Legolas cut in. Tauriel had not heard him approach, but looked at him to speak. "Tauriel and I will ride out the main gate and ambush from behind."

"It's too dangerous," Ettrian said.

Tauriel looked to Legolas. "He's right, you know."

"We must dispel their ranks," Legolas argued, "And for that, we must attack from all sides."

"At least take a party with you," Ettrian begged.

"It is too much of a risk. The Captain and I should go alone," Legolas urged.

"Prince--" Ettrian began.

"Ettrian, you have done well in organizing our forces. But now, let us even the playing field. Tauriel and I are both capable, and we already waste too much time discussing tactics. Now is the time to act."

"Excuse me, who is the Captain here?" Ettrian inquired, annoyed to be taking orders from the Prince and not Tauriel. Legolas was not hated amongst the ranks, but was occasionally irksome. Many of the soldiers disliked his direct involvement, and saw him as spoiled by the King. Tauriel knew he was simply over-eager, but there were reasons that she held the title of "Captain." One of them was her ability to keep a level head in planning combat. Another was according to King Thranduil's will, but that was another story entirely.

Going without the assistance of a party seemed dangerous. And yet, if the goblins were to break through, they would need every hand available to keep the infiltration at bay. Still, it would be unwise not to take a few trusted soldiers with them. Just as Legolas was beginning to look offended by Ettrian's question, Tauriel cut in with her thoughts.

"Prince Legolas and I will go," Tauriel stated, "But we will take a small party with us."

"Tauriel, it is unnecessary," Legolas lowered his voice in attempt to show his respect.

"It is unsafe. Unwise, even. But I would not say it is 'unnecessary' my prince," Tauriel regarded him steadily.

"What if we launch assassination attacks only?" Legolas asked, "The enemy will not see us."

"And if perchance by some accident, they do?" Ettrian almost sneered at the Prince.

"I do not like your tone, soldier," Legolas suddenly bit.

"Stop," Tauriel addressed both of them. They looked quite ready to brawl with one another, which was absurd. "We will take a small band of soldiers with us. That is my final order. Legolas, let us go. Ettrian, I trust you will hold the enforcements up here in my absence."

"Yes my Captain," Ettrian nodded and turned back to the ranks. He barked a few orders and then turned back to Tauriel before she could depart. "A few from the upper ranks will meet you at the stable."

Tauriel was reckless, but not nearly as reckless as Legolas was in this case. She and Legolas could have easily taken on the 300 or so goblins attacking the gate, but she had no clear concept of how many others might have been hiding in the trees on the banks. Together, she and Legolas took their leave of the balcony with all haste to the stables.

"What were you doing in the King's quarters so early this morning?" Legolas asked, giving her the most probing of expressions as they walked.

"I had too much to drink and fell asleep on the sofa," Tauriel answered, returning his expression with one of perplexed daring, "I was awoken by the horns."

"I was worried when you did not return to the party. I had hoped we would have more time to speak. I take it the peace-offering went well?"

"Peace-offering?" Tauriel snorted a bit. "Have you ever known the King to turn down wine?"

"First time for everything?" He arched a dark brow at her, but seemed to have no idea that anything else had transpired.

They had reached the stables, and he now saddled up a horse more quickly than any mortal could have. He mounted and offered her a hand up, which she accepted.

That was about when she realized how sore she was. Thankfully, she was seated behind Legolas, so he did not see the look of agony that crossed her face when she sat astride the horse. She clutched him for more reasons than balance, and for the first time had second thoughts about whether or not this was a good plan. She did not voice concern.

"We drank entirely too much, if you must know. I took it upon myself to put your father's thoughts at ease. He was in quite a state when I found him. I lost track of time and am sorry to have worried you," she lied. Having never lied before in her life, she did not feel so well in doing so. But she could not have very well told her friend the truth.

Legolas coaxed the horse into a trot. Tauriel felt she had not known pain before then, but bit her tongue. "Funny. You and my father getting along for more than an hour. It was a most unusual night indeed," Legolas commented, a bit snidely, Tauriel thought.

She resorted to not form any further comment on the matter, and instead focused on the task at hand. On the way to the gate, she was surprised to see Thranduil crossing the courtyard in the direction of the stables. He stopped them.

"Tauriel. Legolas. Where are you going?" He asked, concern on his brow.

"We have a plan to split the goblin forces from behind their ranks," Tauriel answered, looking down on him (a strange contrast from the usual).

"Let me go with you," he said, even as a small band of reinforcements rode out from the stables to join them. His gaze, while that of a concerned King and father, harbored an unconcealed passion for the Captain. It made her uncomfortable in the presence of others.

"My King, it is not wise for you to go," Tauriel advised.

"Ah, but it is for my son?"

"Ada--" Legolas began.

"Your son can handle himself. Let us do our jobs, my King. And you would do well to do yours." Tauriel kicked the horse back into motion, "Let's go, Legolas."

She did not consider the slight enmity of Thranduil's glance then, and while in a way she had been out of place in saying do, it was her duty to take charge in situations like these. She did not hear Thranduil calling for his armor as the horse trotted for the gate.

"I suppose that was an accurate depiction of how your conversations went with him last night," Legolas mused as the guards lowered the gate. Their company of five was quiet.

"He is far more agreeable under the influence of Dorwinion," Tauriel noted, and Legolas kicked the horse into a gallop. Once through the gate, it was again raised to prevent any enemies from entering. The galloping motion of the horse made Tauriel feel a bit nauseated from the soreness between her thighs. She grimaced the entire way to the river banks, longing to be in bed.

They could hear the sounds of battle not far off, and left the horses secured within the trees, continuing the rest of the way on foot. The early morning river fog was thick near the ground, something that was not so easily noticed from her earlier post. As they drew closer to the water gate, they could see and smell fire. Ugly shadows danced on the trees, and Tauriel could feel her hate burning accordingly. Still, she tried to curb her allowance of how much it dictated her actions. All elves hated goblins, but Tauriel hated them in particular. Above, arrows were raining down upon the goblins. Those nearest the gate were protected by the overhang, and seemed to be dangerously close to breaking through the door.

"We need to disperse with their ranks, and take out the platform," she whispered to Legolas and the other five. Legolas nodded. An equal measure of horror and hate was in the elf prince's eyes, and she only hoped that the small band would not be overcome by the fray. Still she said nothing of the matter.

"I'll take the North side if you'll take the South," he offered, to which Tauriel nodded. A small bridge would allow Legolas to pass through the mist to the other side unnoticed. All that remained would be for them to silently begin taking the goblins down one-by-one, and to keep careful avoidance of the elven rain of arrows.

"Three of you go with Prince Legolas. Two with me," Tauriel said to the others. Legolas flashed her a doubtful expression, seeming to take slight offense to the fact that he took the larger of the division, but he said nothing.

"Let's go," Tauriel said, pulling her bow and notching an arrow. Legolas did the same and moved as quiet as the breeze through the low fog, his golden hair disappearing to Tauriel's left as she ducked into the trees for cover, making her approach. The additional soldiers followed like silent shadows. Tauriel noted that they were from Thranduil's personal guard. Ettrian must have been quite concerned regarding this plan.

Tauriel did not possess the experience of the wars, like most of the Mirkwood host. But she had spent nearly all of her life training for battles. At times, Thranduil had trained her himself. Most of her fighting experience was with spiders and goblin skirmishes on the river banks, never quite so large an assault as this one. In fact she had been quite young when she had seen anything like what she now witnessed, and that was the goblin attack that had taken her parents from her. She had been defenseless then. She was not quite so defenseless now.

She had always feared an attack on Thranduil's halls. It never occurred to her they might attack the water gate, which was a much weaker entry to contend with than the front gate, which shut up in a stunning array of stone, wood, and iron. The front gate was nigh impenetrable. King Thranduil had seen to that himself. But the water gate, as small, low, and insignificant as it seemed, was not so unbreakable. The problem for both forces would be the narrowness of the entryway. It would be unlikely to yield space for more than four goblins across. It was after all, used for the transport of goods between the Halls of the Elfking, and the shores of Laketown.

Tauriel knew time was of the essence, so she made her first move by loosing an arrow into the outermost goblin. Her aim was true, and the creature dropped almost soundless, without uttering so much as a grunt. The fog seemed only to increase, and the goblin's nearest comrade did not notice the assassination. Tauriel repeated the action a few times, feeling a slick satisfaction as she closed in on the goblin ranks. She felt very confident that she and Legolas could dissemble the line-up in a short amount of time, and then set to work destroying that crude platform. Her two comrades set to work doing the same, fanning out to her sides deadly and without sound.

About twenty kills in, the disparity of outer forces was noticed. They used the fog for cover while the goblins made the discovery. She wondered how Legolas and his three were doing on the other side, and had the fleeting thought that the King would probably sentence her to death if his son were to fall in battle--especially a mere siege-battle. From the front lines, Tauriel could hear and see the chaos. There was enough confusion up there to deter the goblins' progress on the water gate. Satisfied with the amount of disconcert she saw, she determined it was time to reveal herself. Shouldering her bow, she withdrew her knives and stood in the middle of the fray, feeling fearless and powerful. As her foes expressed their shock in the most horrendous of voices, she unleashed her fury. She began slitting throats, ruthless, cutting down opponent after opponent until she was almost out of breath. And as she stood for a moment in the remnants of the ruin she had created, she offered a murderous smile to the ones remaining, even as her comrades continued to cut down the enemy all around. The Mirkwood host was a force to be reckoned with, and Tauriel felt a sense of pride as the others wordlessly and elegantly slaughtered the foe.

But Tauriel had grown cocky too quickly. One of the more grotesque of the goblin host stood in his asymmetric, raw-looking armor, and began blowing a horn. It bellowed down the river, resounding amongst the trees, and echoing in the elf's ears. The host was momentarily silent in its wake, and suddenly the horn sounded no more. The goblin slid to the ground, and Tauriel noticed an arrow protruding from its neck. Turning, she saw Legolas a short distance away, looking about as unscathed as she. Clearly he had done as well, if not better, as she.

Then, all at once, the host turned on Tauriel and Legolas. The two elves exchanged temporary glances of fear before running in the opposing direction. 

"Go uin râd!" Tauriel shouted to the company of five, who followed suit. Two flanked the elves, with the other three bringing up the rear.

"Perhaps I should have better considered our circumstances!" Shouted the Prince over the rush of wind and water.

"You!? I'm the Captain of the Guard; perhaps I should have made a better plan that did not involve us getting trampled by an angry horde of goblins!" Tauriel said. Legolas turned ever-so-slightly as he ran, and fired a few arrows behind them. 

"More approach!"

"What do you mean 'more approach?'" Tauriel asked, inhaling short and deep as they sprinted alongside the river.

They reached a place where the river forked, and stopped to look back. What they saw caused Tauriel's heart to drop. The trees were now swarming with multitudes of goblins; more than the approximate three hundred their host had begun with. It was as Tauriel had feared; they had miscalculated how many might be lying in wait. Still, she was stalwart in the face of the enemy. 

"I am sorry, my Prince," she said.

"You must have more faith in our abilities," Legolas said.

"If either of us dies today, I will be held responsible," Tauriel looked at him, "I will go forward. You take the long-range position."

"Tauriel--!"

"I do not have time to argue, my Prince. I am Captain. And this is an order. May your arrows be swift and true. The rest of you, guard the prince with your lives. If the battle should turn for the worst, get him back within the city gates." Tauriel had become grim very quickly. In the face of the turning tides, the black bile of the earth began to rise. She wanted only to sever its heart, returning the despair to whence it came.  
One of the five silent ones spoke up. His eyes were sad, his hair as raven feathers, and eyes like the moon. "My lady, do not do this. Let me stand by your side."

"My life matters not," Tauriel stated, "But I will accept your aid. Should I fall, immediately turn to the prince." Rushing headlong into the approaching host, she paused with her knives raised, a red hot ferocity upon her brow.

"I am Tauriel! I am Captain of the Mirkwood Guard, and by my will are the Elfking's forces ready to deal your defeat," Tauriel shouted at them, "Surrender, or face my wrath!" She did not know if it was folly or bravery to speak so haughtily to the host of Goblintown in that way, but every second a sword was not lifted was another second of life. And those seconds, were precious.

Goblins are ugly and stout. As far as uniforms go, the variety of their armors, shapes, sizes, and ability to form up any kind of organized rank in battle, cause them to look like a giant rockslide. Disorganization could be used as a point of weakness, but in this case, it was their strength. Their lack of organization caused them to be unpredictable, which made planning a near-impossible feat. But at the elf's formidable words, the entire host paused to consider them, instead of just charging her. Goblins were not particularly known for their intelligence; they were base creatures who lacked the sophistication and progress of humans and elves. At that moment, they paused because they were trying to figure out what the she-elf was saying, and if there were other elves stationed in the area to initiate attack.

It became quickly apparent, however, that Tauriel stood alone, with few for back-up. A resonating chuckle came from the leader of the goblin host and he made himself known. He was large and ugly, with bug-like green eyes. His voice was horrible and sharp. "Captain Tauriel," he repeated her name back to her, "Where is your army?"

"I see no need to dispatch an army to deal with the likes of you, where I am plenty capable on my own," answered Tauriel, setting her chin.

"Seven against one thousand," said the goblin with a sneer, "The magic of Mirkwood is strong with you indeed, Tauriel Captain. Let us see how your spells fare when you are without your head!"

As he swung forward with a crude, spiked club, Tauriel stepped in and cut his head clear off, without so much as a tremor. His body fell at her feet, and head rolled to the side. If there was one thing she knew about these creatures, it was to never show fear. Certainly, she did feel fear in the presence of so many, but she showed no sign of it. She stood, still poised with her daggers as she turned a violent gaze upon the remaining host.

"So nine hundred ninety nine of you remain. Will the next with such a strong will for death step forth?" She had a keen sense her luck was about to run out, and she was quite right in that assumption, for the goblins were furious with the elf's actions. Not only had she stalled for time, but she had succeeded in decapitating their leader right before them. There was no one goblin who would respond to her question; the remaining host simply picked up arms and charged at the redhaired elf and her one companion.

Now was the time to panic.

Just when Tauriel imagined she might be trampled, or quite impaled on a goblin spear or sword, a great light was summoned upon the host with the thunder of hooves, and the sound of mellifluous trumpets. Confused, the goblins fell back from their pursuit, looking for the cause of the disruption. 

King Thranduil's voice came booming over the battle, song-like yet terrible, "Dago i goth! Avo dhavo! Show no mercy!"

Tauriel saw him then, atop a massive white steed. He was in glorious silver armor, his hair like sunlight whipped back in the early-morning breeze. A crimson cape billowed behind as his forces, small but efficient, broke into the goblin ranks like ships cutting through calm waters. Tauriel was overwhelmed with relief, but she was not quite out of it yet. She was still surrounded by bloodthirsty goblins and she swung around to cut her way out. Cursing aloud in a blind rage, her blade found their throats, taking them one-by-one.

"Get my son back to the halls," she heard Thranduil telling one of the guards. Looking back in her battle-tinged haze, she saw the elf rescue the Prince from his hide-out where he had been leisurely launching arrows into the foe. Tauriel smiled a bit at that thought; Legolas had done as she had asked for once, and he had done well. Now he protested being carried off, but he was in the saddle, and the guard was riding off with him.

Tauriel spun around and was nearly decapitated for doing so, managing to duck only at the last second. The goblin brought its blade around quickly, dealing a hefty blow to the elf's arm even as she drove a dagger into its chest. She winced, knowing that her bracer had taken the brunt of the pain, but the slice extended further up her arm, and she bled a bit through her tunic. As she nursed her wound in temporary distraction, another goblin approached. Her dagger was still at the ready, but before it could land a blow, it lost its head. 

King Thranduil had dealt the strike himself. In that brief but breathtaking moment, she looked up at her king, and he seemed ancient, powerful, but distant as the stars. It was as though a dark horror had awoken in his soul; the shadow of a memory long-since and intentionally forgotten. His eyes blazed with the approaching light of dawn, as though he could signal its approach. He offered an arm, and she simply took it, too speechless to make any remarks. He swung her into the saddle behind him. His cape was silken against her face, his armor cool and smooth against her fingers. In the centuries she had known him, the warrior had too infrequently appeared. He was always the very essence of calm and collected. Now there was a rage upon him, the likes of which he had not been forced to deal with in some time. Tauriel felt a twinge of shame, as though she had somehow failed in her duties. Looking across the carnage, she could see that of the few hundred goblins remaining, the remaining were in retreat. Thranduil's guards gathered around to watch for a moment. 

"Hunt them down," Thranduil said, voice cruel as the teeth of winter. He seemed hardly winded from his experience. "Show them that the forces of Mirkwood are without mercy."

"My lord, I urge you to let me join them," Tauriel said as the battalion rode off before them. The King turned his face, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I urge you to return with me, to safety and to get that wound properly tended to," he remarked, "You may be young and spry, but trust my forces to handle this squarely. Do not so recklessly engage the enemy when there are plenty in a far better state to contend with the obscenity of our enemy."

"You have appointed me to perform these duties--" 

"I have appointed you as Captain of the guard, because I trust your instincts and your prowess. But I have not appointed you to run witlessly into chasing goblins through the forest as some hot-headed act of vengeance on behalf of your parents," At this he turned and gave a most pointed expression which caused Tauriel to flinch. "Let the others handle it. The battle is our victory, and you must tend that wound."

"It is only a scratch, my Lord," Tauriel protested, irked that her King would not entrust her to the task at hand.

"No more, Tauriel." Thranduil kicked the horse around to face the direction of the gate. "Once you have tended to yourself, you will report to my quarters. There are matters I would discuss with you."

"My King--" Any further refusal she considered would have been futile. Thranduil rapped the reins, and the stallion ushered them towards the gates of his halls. The trek was silent, but for the torrent of thoughts and fears that settled into Tauriel's mind. The heat of the battle had both exhausted and awakened her. There was a dark energy boiling within that needed to be released, and she could think of no better way to do so other than pursuing what remained of the goblin host. Unless... but no. Once had been enough. She could not be with him again. It was far too sacred a ritual for them to blindly engage in. Yet, being so close to her King as they returned home suddenly became a devastating kind of uncomfortable. The rocky movement of the horse did not aid the thoughts which assailed her and the pain which she had forgotten, despite every effort to think otherwise.

They stopped where she and Legolas had left the horse earlier, and both dismounted, much to her relief. The other horses were not there, and she could only assume they had been collected by their riders already. Ignoring her King and the sudden heat that tortured her insides at his unspoken behest, she soothed the steed with a few words. Looking back at Thranduil, there was a stern expression in his eyes, but his lips were softened with the slightest whisper of curiosity.

"Let us not tarry," he set his brow and turned back to his mount. Tauriel nodded her acknowledgement and mounted the horse she had taken there.

The rest of the journey was in silence. The gates creaked open upon their arrival, and slammed shut once they were inside. A few short commands were uttered to the stable hands as they dismounted. Tauriel stood for a moment, feeling hazy. Thranduil's shining armor was only moderately effected by the battle. Some of the shine was gone, and there were a few dents, but otherwise, the King hardly looked disheveled. In fact, he appeared radiant as ever. She noticed that he was staring at her then, and turned away, blushing, which was a foolish thing indeed.

He grabbed her arm, forcing her to look at him. There was a mysterious weariness in his eyes, with a hint of relief that was tinted with emotional collapse. She could have leaned into him. She wanted to. But neither moved for that moment.

"I will see you in my quarters," the King stated evenly, slowly releasing her arm. She turned and exited quickly, pausing outside the stable to hear the sound of his armor ringing with his steps as he returned to his halls. 

Her wound was not a terrible one, but it did require dressing nonetheless. She was remiss to admit that Thranduil had been right. She would have much rather been out hunting goblin scum, nonetheless. A short trip to her chambers found her refreshed, bandaged, and changed into a soft green dress. Despite some basic meditation, she was still flushed and subject to the woes of battle-lust. In fact she had the mind to simply leave the premise again, and chase after the others in order to engage the enemy in mid-morning slaughter. Her blood ran hot, and begged some sort of satisfaction.

It was in fact, much brighter out that it had been when she woke. She traveled to the King's halls squinty-eyed in the golden sunlight. Although she adored the sun, she craved the darkness. She yearned for concealment, and she could not understand why. 

He was puzzling over the plotting table yet again, still in his armor. The cape, although draped unceremoniously across his feet, looked regal and intentional. He did not look up at her, and her heart cringed for that. 

"There is something that you must come to understand that you could not possibly at this time," he began, voice slow and heavy, "A father worries for his son, especially when he is thrust into such dangerous territory. Legolas is but a child in my eyes. A capable child, but a child nonetheless."

" Your son has been grown for many years now, my King," Tauriel answered, looking down at her feet.

"I am not pleased with your decision to include him on your rather haphazard mission in attempt to backstab the army of goblins that attacked this morning." It was unusual for him to get straight to the heart of his matter, but Tauriel had no qualms with the change. His speech seemed stinted, as though he was trying to limit his words. His shoulders were heavy.

"My King, I do apologize, but it was Legolas's idea in the first place. You know how stubborn he can be. As to his being a child, what then, am I to you?" A dark silence lingered between them at that question. Still, if Thranduil wished to get to the point so quickly, Tauriel would as well. She counted her breaths; one, two, three, four... "My King, what am I to you?" She repeated.

"My light," he whispered.

Tauriel caught her breath. Her heart sounded within her breast, more loudly than it could have ever beat. She closed the distance between, putting her hand on his shoulder and turning him toward her. There were tears in his eyes; shocking, crystal tears.

And she understood.

"You do not have to be strong for me, my King. I know the darkness upon your heart. I have seen the shadows of our sick forest upon your shoulders, the burdens of history upon your back. You have suffered much in your past, but you must not let that affect the decisions you make for the future. Your son's destiny is no one's but his own. And mine. Mine is no one's but my own. Build your walls as thick and high as you please, but there are still those who would seek to undo you. The higher you build, the further they will cast you out of your safety. It is better to fight than it is to hide. You have known this, and yet you have denied it. For centuries, you have done this, lost in emotional defeat and ruin. And now, your past threatens to destroy you from the mere sight of battle. You are afraid. But you must not let that fear consume you. The world around us is changing; I can feel it when the morning rises through the dew and damp. A darkness settles heavy on this wood when the twilight comes to pass; a darkness that extends beyond the cool velvet of night." At this, the shades of her memories fell upon her heart, and she was sad.

She carried on, imploring his serenity, "I conquered my fear long ago. I was forced out of my youth and branded for battle. But you, my King. You have not the advantage of my ignorance. You know the horrors that wait beyond your borders and you cannot bear to see those you love traverse into that territory, knowing that you may never see them again. So how then may you reckon with such fears? When the walls of your palace come crashing down, and your people are threatened face-to-face with the enemy? Only then might you muster your forces to fight what has lurked outside all along? Or will you conquer your fears and pursue these abominations to the ends of Middle Earth? Will you find and destroy the sickness that is upon our forest, restoring it to the great Greenwood it once was?"

"The sickness of the forest extends far beyond any reparation I can make," Thranduil said, voice numb. He had forced the tears from his eyes. "There are dark forces - there is dark death magic - which cripples the beauty of this kingdom."

"Too often you accept that things are out of your control," Tauriel shook her head.

"What would you have me do?" Thranduil bit, suddenly wresting his shoulder from her. Tauriel backed up a step in surprise. "You have not the experience that many of us have with death. The death of your parents was kept from you, and you were so young. You have not felt a spirit leave to walk the Halls of Mandos and been left to endure the emptiness it brings. You do not know this fear."

"I do not, my King. But even if I did, I would not let it cripple me in the face of certain war!" She should have known better than to continue trying to convince him of her opinion, but in light of the day's events, it seemed absurd of him to not at least consider it.

"Oh, so it is war you see in these attacks?" He asked, voice suddenly filled with poison. Tauriel did not wish to fight him, but his hardened heart blinded him.

"Those goblins built a way to get in. They clearly scouted the area beforehand, my King. If that is not an act of war--"

"It was a petty dispute waged by petty creatures," Thranduil went to his desk and uncorked a bottle of wine, pouring himself a glass.

"A thousand goblins is 'petty'? Forgive me, my King, but you are far too dismissive. If this is any indication of the future--"

"Do not speak to me of the future. The only viable future for the people of Mirkwood is to stay safe within these halls under my protection," he glared at her from over his wine glass. It was shocking how quickly he had turned his emotions. From a traumatic sadness into a heated and stubborn anger. This was the work of fear. Tauriel refused to become a target. But she also refused to back down without a proper statement against his. She did not wish to fight with him, yet she was in a fighting mood.

"Your protection, which nearly failed this day?" She raised an eyebrow.

"And under whose supervision have I entrusted with the carrying-out of my protection?" The question came across as callous and thoughtless. The delivery was much too quick to have been a remark of truth, but the words still stung as an accusation would. Tauriel was furious and heartbroken all at once. She lowered her eyes. Thranduil recognized immediately and looked at her, eyes flashing as he tried to grasp some form of apology.

"My King, may I take my leave of you?" Tauriel asked softly, setting her jaw and biting back tears. She did not look at him then. She couldn't.

"Tauriel--" He set his wine glass down and went to her, armor pealing as he did so. Even as he came close, she shied away, looking up but past him with a slight tremor.

"I will argue with you no longer over this matter. May I take my leave?" She asked again. 

"I did not mean to imply--you know that I trust you," the words were yielding and apologetic. 

"We may fight for the remainder of our eternal lives, my King. But I am both weary from battle, and lustful for blood. So it will not be this night." She looked at him then, and he had softened.

"I will consider your counsel, Captain," he said with a nod, "But do not expect me to act quickly or impulsively. Unlike most matters of the sword, this will take time."

She did not believe him, although she wanted to. Tauriel looked at him with worry. "You will speak to me in these words that I much desire to hear, and yet your decision will ever be unchanging."

"There is no beauty in my words, Tauriel. Only darkness." He reached down and touched her hair. There was longing in his eyes. "Amin anta lle, calla en amin."

The fury and the hurt melted from her at the words. She did not like to admit it, but she needed him, too. Despite their on-going dispute, there were moments of understanding, and moments where his mere presence rendered her defenses useless. Had the day started any differently, she might have walked away. It would have been simplest to call out her frustrations on the archery field, one arrow at a time. But she was filled with so many emotions and the battle had left her ripe and desirous. Both were tired of fighting. She needed him so desperately that a crimson heat burned at her core, threatening to tear her apart.

She kissed him. That she had the liberty to do so was still surprising to her. But Thranduil broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers, a finger alighting on the bottom of her chin, and he stared deeply into her eyes to see the white stars that shone within her for him.

"Your defiance reminds me that I am not alone, and that other voices remain," he said, voice like a wind whispering in the tall grass.

"What will I do," Tauriel whispered back, the question more of an internal thought than one that needed to be answered. "You infuriate me to no end, and then cause me to crumble with your enchanting voice. I believe you, because I want to. But these words, my king. These words are lies. You know I cannot stand idly by when the forces of darkness creep in upon your home more swiftly than the shadows of night. Yet you continue to placate me with this seduction, as if you hope that it will make me forget."

"No, Tauriel," his reaction might have otherwise been a violent one, but he was gentle, having mastery of his emotions once again. "I do not hope that you will forget; only that you will forget for just a little while to lie in my embrace once again."

"Is that all you wish of me, my King?" She hoped not.

"All? No. But you will not give me all I wish for." There was a hint of obstructed melancholy in his voice.

"And what is that?" Tauriel had only the faintest realization of how deep her King's feelings may have extended for her, and she was afraid to know more.

"I think you know what is on my heart."

"Madness is upon your heart," she proffered, shaking her head.

"You are afraid." The word hung on the air like fear itself tended to do. An accusation, almost. Tauriel's eyes flickered.

"Yes. I am terrified," She confessed, "Does that please you?"

Thranduil sighed. He offered no answer. "Do not be afraid," he said simply.

"These meetings will have consequences, my King. The rumor will only grow," Tauriel shook her head again. At this Thranduil stepped back from her, brow furrowed and body straight.

"Then let it grow into a ferocious beacon of truth, and let those who would oppose me come," his gaze blazed with passion. "For centuries I have given nothing but an iron cage to my inclinations. I never imagined I could be awakened so violently from my lamentations. I never imagined these wanton flames could burn within me once again, where not even the shadows of embers had remained. Here I am, Tauriel, burning for you even as I burned once in dragon fire. It is all pain and fury, but when you are near, it is patience and serenity. I can scarce explain it, for when I am one with you in the dark, it is right."

Tauriel's cheeks were flush. Every moment she spent with him, a new petal unfolded, unveiling some exquisite secret. She wished she could have offered him such bold and charming words in response, but her throat was dry. She might have walked away in her fear of such explicit confessions, but instead, she found herself unbuckling his pauldrons and breastplate, allowing them to clatter to the floor, his crimson mantle wisping into a soft pile at his feet.

It was not poetic, but it seemed to satisfy the king. She loosed the remaining armor more abruptly than she thought she could, but then again, battle attire made far more sense to her than clothing did. The glorious armor fell from him, until only the simplest of raiment stood between them. Her battle-inspired bloodlust turned into insatiable hunger. This shone uncontained in her eyes, the sight of which caused the king's mouth to turn up in a delightful and remarkably fiendish smile.

He put a thumb to her cheek and reveled in her burning gaze. He crushed her with his kiss, drinking the breath from her lungs, hands clutching and tearing the dress from her body. Tauriel raked her hands over the closures of his garment, her lips still captive to his, freeing him of the silk prison. Her skin collided with his and she lost her breath in his heat. He spoke no words, but broke from her to sweep his arm across the freshly set plotting table, clearing the pieces. It was a familiar situation, Tauriel realized, thinking back to two nights prior.

Midday sun was streaming from the balcony, illuminating the table with a golden glow. There was little time to take it in. King Thranduil thrust her upon the surface, and maintained no illusions of being gentle. Tauriel's hair was a silken blanket beneath them as he locked his body against hers. Neither made an attempt to play coy. He was inside of her immediately, throatily proclaiming his satisfaction that she did not require further coaxing. She wrapped her arms around her king, savagely bruising his lips with hers. They were enslaved to the dance as if under some kind of ancient spell, the rhythm of which was barbaric.

Tauriel's voice rose against his in spirited harmony. There were perhaps thousands of things they could have said; words, confessions, fears, secrets... Instead, such poetry was mitigated to a hungry chorus of resonance both passionate and primal. She understood not the fever which drove her skin to dewy roses, and he understood not the ancient beast which had awakened within from centuries of slumber. But he had not forgotten the steps; she, on the other hand, was still learning them. But the King was a patient teacher, and more than willing to oblige.

He buried one hand into her hair, raising her body slightly to be flush with his, their connection still explosively vigorous. Their lips were fused, the sounds emitting almost as one voice, moans distinguishable only by pitch. The time was short, as both felt a sense of urgency. Thranduil stopped only once, peering down into his Captain's face, eyes wild with his thirst.

"More?" The night prior, it had been a demand. Now, the word was a flustered question, and he did not seem poised to wait terribly long for an answer.

"Yes," she gasped, "Yes." How strange to be making love in the sunlight.

He continued with a ferocity Tauriel did not even realize was possible. She clung to him, nails carving into his back while the unconscious cries left her lips. Thranduil seemed un-phased by the sharp grips of her fingers. He was furiously ripping the screams from her lungs as though they were life to him, every high resonance perpetuating a sacred look of pleasure upon his face.

Her release took her by force, throwing her into an involuntary pulsating rhythm against him. Thranduil did not stop, determined to place his Captain in the throes of rapture for an indefinite amount of time. He drove on even as she cried out in a directionless frenzy, gripping him harder, his name a fever-pitched song on her lips. 

"Orthach 'uren ir tirach enni. Ned i postog a nin, ni bant," he murmured into her ear, which quieted her for just a moment. She would have spoken; and certainly she would have liked to. She wanted to tell him that this was no time for his love poetry; she was in dire straits and his stoic romantic confessions could not outweigh his carnal actions. He coerced her into a second release, holding on to his own as if he sought to drain her first.

She was breathless for this one; wheezing, floundering, gritting her teeth. Her insides clutched at him. He groaned in return and slowed his pace, savoring her, and continuing to delay. He rose above her as if for breath, his hair brushing her skin before he lowered once again. He renewed his vigor, chest gliding against hers, platinum hair laden with flashes of afternoon sun. Tauriel was entranced, but she was also somewhere else. She could not stand to be there without him.

She touched his face, looking at him with soft eyes. "Join me," the whisper came weak and uncertain, but sounded like a siren call in the King's ears. Thranduil gasped at the request, plunging into her, making her body arc under him.

"Once more for me," he whispered back, "Once more." His exasperated hunger was apparent. She couldn't have denied the third release had she tried. Like a raincloud rolling over the mountain, she burst, expelling a deep, gasping and wordless breath. He followed at last, changing to rocky and unpredictable movements that invoked several aftershocks for Tauriel. She grimaced with each one, her sensitivity bordering on painful. Thranduil fell to the side of her, spent, satisfied and somehow even in his state of dishevelment, as kingly as ever.

For a moment, they lay side-by-side, catching their breaths. They were simultaneously in the room, but also not. Tauriel realized, it was difficult to describe. The act transcended the physical. It was both sacred and somatic. There was no going back from any of this, but she did not want to. Her hand found his and she clasped it, suddenly and irrationally afraid that he would leave her.

He rolled toward her, taking her waist and pulling her against him. Neither paid heed to the hard table beneath them. It was uncomfortable, but unimportant. He looked into her eyes, brushing back the hair from her face with a thumb. A thousand words were written in his eyes. Tauriel read them in silence, frightened and excited all at once.

"Do you know what is on my heart now, Tauriel?" He asked quietly, "For it is not madness that you see."

"And yet it is," Tauriel answered, frowning. The afternoon patrol would be leaving within the hour, and they would miss her should she not join them. Thranduil was still looking at her, amorous and profound. 

"I knew it once, you know," he continued, running his fingers through her hair, "I never thought I could know it again."

"I cannot compare with your memories, Thranduil. I am nothing compared to a queen," Tauriel said, looked at him wistfully. She knew her place could never be at his side. Yet sometimes when he looked at her, she thought, just maybe...

"Ni melig, Tauriel?" He asked. His eyes locked with hers, but she looked away as soon as the question was asked.

"Why ask? You know I cannot answer," she shook her head and pushed him away, rolling to a sitting position on the edge of the table. She knew the answer. She feared it, for many reasons the King did not.

He followed, grabbing her hand. "Then do not answer me now. But consider." His eyes were earnest. Something within him had changed. He was no longer cold. A flame had pierced the ice.

She nodded, still unable to fathom how she could possibly reckon with this situation or these newly exposed feelings. She had a job to do, and dallying around Thranduil's bedchambers was not part of its description.

"I must go, my King," she collected her gown and dressed herself, "I must join the patrol."

"You will return to me after?" He asked. Tauriel looked at him again and took a breath. It was impossible to say "no" in particular when he was without raiment or crown. He still looked a king, but an honest king who was more than just a ruler.

"Perhaps," she exhaled. Worry took her heart. She thought it might be best to take some time away.

"It would bring me joy if you would," he added, tilting his head at her.

"Very well. I shall see you in several hours, my King," she said. She could not deny that the time would be long, and seem longer still, to be away from him. Thranduil rose before she could leave, collecting her into his embrace once more. His breath was an enigmatic whisper, and she felt almost as if he held her on a string. He kissed her, delicately with yearning. She offered as much of a smile as she dared, before leaving for her quarters.

She barely caught up with the patrol party by the time she had changed and collected her weapons. The doors to the Elfking's hall closed on her heels as she and the others plunged into the dark of the forest once again. And just like her physical form, her mind plunged, too, into a darkness of worry, uncertainty, and fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies to anyone who is reading this story. I am uber-fantastically-busy, so my ability to churn out chapters is somewhat limited! Anyway I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I've edited it about fourteen times and I've just decided, "it's a fanfic, why are you agonizing over this so much!?" I hope to be able to provide you with the next chapter a bit more quickly than it took for me to get this out to you!
> 
> Also, you may or may not have noticed, I have a little bit of a different idea of what the water gate looks like than what Peter Jackson visualized. Hopefully that's comprehensible. Couple other headcanon-type things: 1) Thranduil has PTSD when it comes to battles; 2) Legolas is a bit of a "brat prince" and not everyone loves him; 3) Thranduil's quarters are NOT open-air like they are in DoS.
> 
> PS: English translations of anything in Elvish are left out on purpose. If you're dying to know, you should be able to google the translations. ;)


	5. Out of Wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel receives some unsolicited advice from a friend and finds a spider nest. After catching up with a distraught Legolas, she continues her secret meetings with the King.

Ettrian seemed quite relieved to see his Captain. Legolas was not on the patrol, and Tauriel could only imagine what kind of state he would be in when she saw him next. She had grown accustomed to listening at length to Legolas's perceived inadequacies, and only imagined this blight would exacerbate them.

"Captain, are you well?" Ettrian asked, looking at the bandages on Tauriel's arm.

"Yes, Ettrian. Thank you for asking. It is a scratch. My pride is more wounded than I am," Tauriel replied. 

"And the King?" Tauriel thought his eyes flashed with a hint of malice, but she ignored it. 

"Emotionally rattled but otherwise fine," she answered, voice terse. "You know how he is with battles."

"I do, but few others recall, and hardly anyone recalls the cause."

"He is recovered," Tauriel assured.

"I am certain you saw to that, my Captain."

Tauriel could not help but lift a slight glare in his direction at the comment. While his face seemed to lack any sort of emotion, there was a judgmental flicker in his eyes. She looked away, but made her orders with sudden resolve.

"Ettrian. Why don't you join me in the South patrol. Vanywr and Melron, you take the North. Yalwis and Eanor, you go West. Reconvene here in two hours." The elves all nodded and headed off in their respective directions - all except Ettrian, who stood for a moment considering the situation.

Tauriel chose not to speak right away, and instead carved a path almost ruthlessly through the brush until they were a ways off from the meeting spot. In the thick of the forest, where only the barest shafts of sunlight were able to pierce the canopy, she turned to eye her soldier.

"What do you think you are doing?" She asked.

"I do not believe you are the one who should be asking that question," Ettrian returned. 

"Need I remind you that I am Captain of the guard?" Tauriel did not frequently feel a need to pull rank, but she had earned it.

"One might question the reason why you have gained that position."

"One might question another's loyalty to the King to make such an inquiry," Tauriel narrowed her eyes at Ettrian, "And you would do well to remember not to speak thusly of the one you serve. I achieved captainship by merit alone, not by any other means."

"Captain, I worry for you if you continue along this path. If others were to find out--"

"If others were to find out? Then I imagine I would have you to blame for such a thing," Tauriel bit, feeling flustered, "Discretion is a most amicable virtue." Ettrian hesitated and then stepped close to her with a grave countenance.

"I would not dream of speaking a word," he said quietly, "But someone is liable to hear you crying out his name in the depths of the palace. And what then, my Captain? What will the people say? What will the prince say?"

Tauriel could feel herself blushing, but it was far too dark for Ettrian to see. "You could hear us?"

"I was walking by his quarters. There was no one else," he assured.

"But you could hear." For some reason, it felt as if the forest was melting away from her. More things were slipping from her control. A small flame of helplessness flared inside of her soul, and she felt something she had been feeling far too much of as of late: Fear.

"Captain. The pleasures of the King are not my concern. Nor are your pleasures. But this is dangerous ground you tread upon."

Tauriel paused, half-listening to the forest, and half-considering Ettrian's words. "You are right. It must end." Something. There was sound in the distance.

"Is it so simple as that?" Ettrian asked.

"It will have to be," Tauriel answered, still listening. "Ettrian. Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Sh. Listen." They were both silent for a full minute. In that silence, they both heard it. A horrible creaking, as if hundreds of wooden doors were being blown in the wind.

"It sounds like--" Ettrian started in a soft voice.

"--a spider nest," Tauriel finished. "Come, let's investigate. There may be too many to engage."

They moved through the trees as wood elves are apt to do. For the magic of the wood elves is a powerful magic, filled with the ability to conceal. Soon they came upon fine, white webs. They followed until they grew thicker, and then stopped to gaze upwards.

The trees were nearly overrun with spider webs. And crawling amongst were the fattest, ugliest spiders Tauriel had ever seen. In fact she was quite repulsed by the sight of it all, and gaped in horror before she signaled to Ettrian that they should leave. There were easily hundreds of spiders crawling up there, and they would require reinforcements to take out the nest. The King would not be happy to hear of this development.

As she and Ettrian made their path back through the thick forest, Tauriel considered his words again, and considered what it would take to end things with Thranduil. Impossible. The mere thought of not being with her King caused agony. Yet the thought of disappointing the people of Mirkwood, and especially Legolas, also caused a deep panic and fear. What could she do? The bond she had begun to form with Thranduil felt unbreakable at this point. 

"Do you love him?" Ettrian asked. She noticed he must have been observing her.

"He is my King. Of course I love him," She began, but Ettrian shook his head.

"That is not what I mean. I think you are well aware of that."

"Oh." Tauriel was quiet. It felt as though the forest moved around them, and not they who moved through the forest. "I do not know."

"Is it that you do not know, or is it that you fear to admit what you know?"

Tauriel drew a breath. "He is a great ruler. Powerful. Wise. Stubborn. He is passionate. Patient. Understanding. Demanding. When I am with him, I feel strong; I feel wanted. I want to stay. To leave his side causes me pain. But Ettrian. Do these things cause me to call this love? Or is it obsession? Lust? Reward? Is it that I would prefer to be punished in his bed than I would to be verbally reprimanded? Is it that I would prefer the gift of his passion over the gift of a celebratory drink? It may be all of these things. Or perhaps, perhaps all of these things, are love. But I do not know. I cannot know. And do you not understand, that I really must not know? I am not worthy of a King's love."

"And yet, he has chosen you," Ettrian stated, "As your friend, Tauriel, I cannot advise you one way or the other. The King has a fragile heart. You know this. The ways of our people are stubborn, but they are not unchanging."

" I appreciate your concern and your thoughts," Tauriel acknowledged, "The path is dark, and I cannot see an end."

He bowed his head almost with reverence and spoke no more on the matter.

They very soon reconvened with the remainder of the party, and exchanged reports. It seems the other areas of the forest were the same as they had been lately: sick forest, no enemies in sight. The only anomaly had been discovered by Tauriel and Ettrian. They returned to the palace in due time, and Tauriel briefed the evening watch on the discovery. She did not anticipate an attack, but she was going to recommend to Thranduil that a larger party be sent out soon to dispense with the nest under her command.

When the evening watch was set, and the gates were closed, Tauriel went in search of Legolas. She should have reported to the King first, but she wanted to check on her friend. Lately her meetings with the King had been turning into all-night affairs, and she could not neglect Legolas for so long.

She found him on the target practice field, firing arrows in rapid succession to supreme perfection. The young prince had a passion much akin to his father's, but much less controlled. His unhappiness with the day's events was apparent.

"My Prince," Tauriel addressed, bowing formally, "Are you well?"

"Am I incapable, Tauriel?" He asked evenly, firing another arrow.

"Absolutely not, my Prince," Tauriel had seen him like this before after similar incidents. They were not on such a grand scale, but Thranduil's overprotection at times drove the prince mad. Tauriel found it best to be agreeable and then to advise when asked.

"Am I defenseless?"

"No, my Prince."

"Am I a child?" He shot a double, angrily.

"You are not." Tauriel thought that was a bit debatable at that present moment, but knew better than to anger the prince further.

"Have I not trained for centuries and proven myself a thousand times over in combat?"

"Most assuredly, you have."

"Then why, Tauriel? Why?" His last arrow sang straight into the target, and he turned towards her at last. There was a kind of awe-struck fury in his blue eyes, and Tauriel wondered if she had seen him this riled up before. 

"I know your passion for battle, and I am well-acquainted with your abilities. I am certain the King knows these things as well. But Legolas, you are the heir to this Kingdom. You are his son. As such, all of us are sworn to go before you," Tauriel answered carefully.

"You would defend him? He is a coward. You have said so yourself." Legolas shook his head and went to go retrieve his arrows.

"This is not a defense, my Prince. It is perspective. You would do well to understand the King. And the King would also do better to understand you. This is not something I can advise you on. You must take this up with him," she clarified, watching as he wrenched the arrows from the targets.

"He will grant me no sympathy, Tauriel. I will forever dwell in his shadow, trying to prove myself when there is nothing left to prove." He sighed. 

Tauriel approached and put a hand on her friend's arm. "If you do not tell him how you feel, he can never know. He is perceptive, but he cannot read your mind."

"Am I not his son? The problem is in his unwillingness to perceive."

"You cannot treat stubborn-ness with stubborn-ness, Legolas, unless you wish to build a wall. Your father loves you. He would sacrifice anything to protect you. What he fails to realize is that you are the same way." She suddenly wondered if she might start taking her own advice. 

"Ada is particularly good at building walls. Perhaps you've noticed."

"My friend, I cannot advise someone who does not wish to be advised. I shall leave you to your weapons. May you find solace in them," Tauriel bowed, and started to walk away.

"No! Tauriel! Wait!" Legolas sighed. Tauriel paused and turned to see his shoulders slump.

"Wise counsel cannot always agree with your every woe, Legolas. Daily, we make mistakes, and we will continue to do so. But the wisest will choose to learn and not repeat," Tauriel stated.

"You are as an ancient Maiar reincarnated, and I would be a fool to brush you aside," Legolas said apologetically, closing the distance and kissing her hand, "Please. Forgive me."

She could not help but smile a bit. "You are gracious with your compliment, but I am no such thing. These words are simple truths that have been handed through the ages. I only offer an iteration that may serve you in this plight."

"I will speak to him on the morrow. Tonight, I must center myself and consider my words carefully. You are ever a blessed friend to have," Legolas embraced her. 

"Thank you. Now, I really must make my report to the King. We discovered a large spider nest in the forest this afternoon."

"A nest? Oh, he will be most displeased to hear that. Would you like me to go with you?" His over-eager recklessness was evident.

"That will not be necessary. Besides, you must prepare for your personal discussion with him, and I would not burden you needlessly with his rage." Tauriel felt a bit like she was falsifying information, but it would not do for Legolas to know what was going on, especially then.

"I appreciate that."

"Good night, Prince."

"Good night, Tauriel."

With that, Tauriel made her way back to the palace, which was starting to feel a lot more like home than home was. Galion was reading quietly in the throne room, and stood on her approach. "He's been waiting for you," the butler said.

"I'm sure," Tauriel stated, trying not to roll her eyes. "Is he in his quarters?"

"Yes, Captain. Shall I show you up?"

"I can find my way. Thank you, Galion."

"Very good." At that the butler eased back into his chair, seemingly relieved that he wouldn't have to make the walk.

Going to Thranduil's quarters had gone from unfamiliar to familiar in such a short amount of time, that the walk seemed simultaneously foreign and normal. Upon reaching the sitting room, she heard the gentle plucking of harp strings from within. Curiosity piqued, she made her way further in.

She stepped into a candlelit outer-chamber, where a rather large bathing vessel was situated in the ground. In the corner, a golden harp played on with no musician to command it. A sweet incense was on the air, the primary scent of which she recognized to be laurinquë.* It was a scent for lovers. And there sat the King, water up to his ribs, leaned back against the stone with his eyes closed, a glass of Dorwinion in his hand.

The laurinquë was overwhelming, and she imagined that was intentional. In fact she imagined the whole "scene" before her was intentional. But knowing the intent did not make it any less effective. In fact, a primal beast roared within her for satisfaction that she fought with every fiber of her being, but the sight of her King thusly posed still took her breath away.

"My King, I am here to report," she spoke on the exhale, inhaling sharply after the words came out.

"Tauriel," he smiled softly but did not open his eyes. The devil knew the predicament he had her in. He did not need to see her to know. He could hear it in her words, sense it in her presence that hungrily reached for him. "I wondered if you might make it back this evening as you promised."

"Conversation kept me. Will you hear my report?" She could feel a tremor starting in her legs.

"Certainly I will. But not from up there," he opened his eyes and looked at her in a way that made her feel as if she was the only woman in Middle Earth; as if he would devour her again and again and still never reach full satisfaction. "Will you not join me?" The words, despite their suggestive nature, were a direct order. Tauriel would have been asinine to not have understood that. Still, she hesitated, thinking of her earlier conversations with Ettrian.

End it. She should have. She should have demanded he take her report from where-ever she chose to give it. She should have told him they could no longer continue in this nonsensical way, that things had to revert to where they had once been. She should have let herself forget his ivory skin and taut muscles, the passion in his kiss, the fire in his eyes, and the splendor of his words.

She should have.

Instead, the hard-headedness and resolve flew from her like shadows flee the dawn. Her weapons dropped to the ground, boots abandoned to the doorway, clothing shed like the needless second skin it was. The water was hot and soothing. She hardly realized how many ways a hot bath might help her aching muscles. Thranduil had put his glass aside and stretched an arm towards her, beckoning. But he did not need to; it was the only place she wanted to be at that moment. The bottom of her hair became heavy in the water, and she was against him, light and soft. He kissed her as though she'd been gone for days, even though it had been mere hours. He pressed his forehead to hers, smiling. Tauriel asked herself if she was dreaming, but the harp played on, the candles burned, the air intoxicated, and he embraced her with his need of her.

"The more I have of you, the deeper my longing," Thranduil whispered.

"My King, how am I to report to you on matters of the Kingdom when you threaten with such poetry?" Tauriel said, looking at him in earnest.

"Well make your report quickly. I shan't mitigate the importance of your duties, but with apology, I must admit my mind is somewhere else."

"Very well. Quick as I may. Ettrian and I discovered a spider nest just four miles south of here. Hundreds of them. We will need reinforcements if we are to eradicate them," Tauriel briefed. He was so tranquil at that moment, she wondered if he would even consider being upset about it.

The King paused and took a breath. "A nest."

"It may take more than a day to contend with," Tauriel added, "This was no small pack."

"Very well. Take all of the reinforcements you may need. But I want the forest cleared of these foul creatures for good. That is an order. Do you understand?" His tone was strict but not as unpleasant as usual.

Tauriel nodded. "It will be done." 

"Good. Now, there are other matters I would tend to." His fingers wrapped around the side of her waist, drawing her to him.

Tauriel did not tremble. She was familiar with him now, and she wanted his touch. She could no longer imagine the idea of leaving him. In fact it seemed childish now. It seemed like running away. She was no coward, on any level. She would face the consequences as they came, as he had so boldly sworn to do as well. His kiss stirred euphoria in her lips, which she returned, smiling at his small murmurs. 

His fingers grazed her shoulder, a thumb falling over her breast, his index finger joining to pinch the already-responsive bud. Something about the water had made her overly sensitive but eager for his touch. The sharp exhale was accompanied with a shudder, and she bit his bottom lip. He did not seem to mind, and tugged on the sensitive nub with his fingers. She floundered, holding onto him as he did so. He lowered his lips over her chin to her jaw, to her collarbone, to her shoulder, finally trading his fingers for teeth. He bit and pulled, one hand at her waist, the other cupping her other breast to begin the same treatment. She clamored, but tried to reel in her enthusiasm, not wanting to be too loud.

He silenced her with his tongue, rocking her back against the stone, soothing the skin after each pull. Tauriel relaxed and let his movements control the depth of her breathing. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. It was lovely, really. The harp. The candles. The body worship. Once he had finished giving the same attention to her other breast, he pulled her in against him with a ragged breath, kissing her roughly. He sat back, coaxing her to straddle his lap and looking into her eyes with a desperate kind of patience. 

"For hours this day, I have dreamt of you. Imagined you. Hungered for you." He put the slightest pressure on her back so that she might feel him. They both ached and echoed.

"Thranduil," her lips were a breath from his, desirous and enchanted. 

"I would hear you utter my name all night, in every voice you have."

Tauriel wrapped her arms around his neck, opening her mouth on his, feeling as though she could lose control of everything. The strange thing was that she did not care. He met her recklessness with his own, colliding with her body in the water. He did not enter her, but instead relished the slick feeling of their skin meeting underwater, drowning in the convergence of their lips. 

He forced her to lay back on the edge of the pool, pinning her shoulders. She gripped his arms, pulling him flush with her body, biting his upper lip. He uttered a small sound of approval at her insistence, then rolled in between her thighs as a reminder. She gasped his name and wrapped her fingers into one of his platinum locks, dragging her nails along one of his arms. He touched. She was tense, wrapping her legs around him, drawing him out of the water. 

They fell onto the stone with a splash, water stains forming as they wrestled across the floor. One moment, she was over him. The next, he was above her. He was laughing a bit, and so was she. It was the candlelight or the incense; maybe the music. They were drunk on each other. However, they soon realized that the floor was not a very comfortable place to be.

Thranduil stood, taking her hands in his. He did not seem so old in that moment, as he had been for years. He seemed reinvigorated. Tauriel followed his steps. He grabbed a linen that was hanging from a fixture on the wall, wrapping her and himself in it for a moment to dry off. He kissed her again and let the fabric go, leading her with backwards steps to the bed chamber. 

Once inside the chamber, Tauriel found herself hungrily pushing him against the wall, her body dancing like fluid against his as she gave to his impassioned lips. Their kisses were filled with the melody of soft gasps and moans, but she gave pause to the melody, her green eyes narrowing as she looked into his deep blue ones.

"Take me," she whispered against his lips, "Thranduil."

The sound of his name on her lips like that seemed to drive him mad. He brought her arms around his neck, hoisting her up so that she wrapped her legs around his waist. He dropped her to the bed, following in his thirst and combining with her at last. Sharp. Gasping. Needed.

He curled into her as if they could melt together, one hand clutching her thigh and the other buried in her red hair as though he forbid their kiss to end. The wet half of his hair clung to her shoulders like sea vines. The meeting of their hips occurred almost unimportantly, so enraptured by one another they were. Their souls gazed upon one another, wild and greedy with ardor. 

"You can never leave me," Thranduil said with hardly a breath, strengthening his hold on her even as the intensity of his thrusts increased. "Say you will not."

"My King, even I were so inclined, I have taken a vow to serve you--"

"--the words of a soldier," he kissed her again, "While I value your vow, the promise I ask of you is of a more personal nature."

"Thranduil, my King--how can I--I simply can't--" At her approach to contention, he drove deep into her with a sharp exhale. "--Oh sweet Eru!" Tauriel went numb with the sensation before pleasure exploded in her veins as an expedited Spring. Her limbs tingled and her eyes hazed. She tried in desperation to take in air.

"I would die without you now," the King whispered, "I implore you, Tauriel."

"Thranduil," her voice sounded so weak and strained, but she still offered her smile, sitting up with trembling body to rest her nose against his to look earnestly into his frantic eyes, "You must know that I am powerless in your presence; that even in my most desperate moments, I am captive to my heart, to always return to your side."

These words seemed to satisfy the King, for the traces of fear vanished from his face. Tauriel did feel somewhat deceitful in her words. She could not possibly make such a promise; not when the fiercest, most terrifying feeling that she could spend eternity with him was threatening to consume her world. It was all so wrong and confusing. Nights ago, she had felt disgusted enough to walk out at the outcome of a seemingly simple disagreement. Now, having experienced the vulnerable soul of her King, the complexity of their union, and the nakedness of her own needs, she felt very differently about everything she had come to know.

That moment of thought lasted bare seconds before her mind was returned to her lover, who now re-engaged her lips as he rolled to the side, granting her the dominant position. He gripped her hips, pushing and pulling her into furious motion until she did so of her own volition. She realized then that his submission to her, however temporary, was a sign of his trust and for just that moment, she felt as though she could be his equal.

Gently, she slipped her fingers around his wrists, asking him to relinquish his grip for just a moment. He complied. Leaning forward and never abandoning the movement he had set her in, she trapped his wrists by the sides of his head, thrusting her hips forward in dominance. He thrust back in response, showing that no matter how tightly she held him down, he could take back control whenever he so desired. For some reason, this excited Tauriel into a delirious smile of sorts, and she gave him every unit of energy she could muster, riding him as a daring vessel rides the stormy sea.

She felt powerful with every whisper and moan that left his lips, rising over and colliding with him repeatedly, faster and faster until she knew he was at his breaking point. She could tell by the tension in his hips and the sudden realization that swirled in his eyes that he was physically ready, but not mentally. More quickly than she could have ever imagined, she found herself beneath him, his chest nearly crushing her back.

"No," he said firmly, voice husky with his delayed release. He stabilized himself and caught his breath. She wriggled beneath him in useless struggle, but felt a secret satisfaction with the outcome. "I am not finished with you."

Tauriel heard a soft sound, like thin fabric being drawn through the air. She felt the touch of silk on her wrists. Before she could discern his game, her wrists were bound behind her back. She tried to free her hands out of instinct, but the knots held good. Thranduil bent his lips to her ear.

"Now, not only is your heart captive; but your body is as well."

But something blossomed in the black pit of her stomach then; a monstrous memory buried for far too long. She was a child again amidst the screams of her parents, hands bound, being dragged across the rocks and dirt. Ugly voices, fire, blood. Tauriel plunged from ecstatic delirium into a memory-stricken terror. She forgot where she was and who she was with.

With all of her strength, she whipped her head back and cracked the king in the forehead. He quickly relinquished, half-dazed from the hit, and distanced himself as the she-elf scrambled across the floor to the other room, where she knew her weapons were. Her one prevailing thought was that she had to get free somehow. All she could hear was her heartbeat amidst unidentifiable noise. Her vision was hazy at best with no connection between her mind and surroundings. She was wild. She was running out of air. She had to escape. She had to go for help.

Suddenly she was being crushed against another warm body, and the command, "Breathe" hewed the noise like a lance.

Sharp intake of air, long exhale.

"Breathe," Thranduil said again. Tauriel was returning, wide-eyed, heart thudding like that of a hunted stag's. "Breathe," the king said once more.

She came to, focusing on his face. She tried to form words, but the sudden and uncontrollable fear melted into incomparable embarrassment. She began to weep, all the memories of her parents' death circling like scavenging beasts. Thranduil undid her bonds with haste and wrapped his arms around her, hushing her tears and stroking her hair.

"It was too soon," he whispered, "Too soon."

She felt so foolish. Without proper control of her emotions, passion had served as a stepping stone for something darker. She wanted to stop crying; she hated that her king was seeing her like this. She spent so much of her life concealing the horrors of her childhood, battling it by killing things instead of facing the reality head-on. There were no words left within her, just dreadful sobs and every perilous emotion she could fathom. They swelled like throngs of demons in her belly and throat, and she did not imagine her flesh was strong enough to contain it.

Thranduil took her to bed, enveloping her in his arms and in the silken covers, consoling as her tears continued to run into streams of dust. He was wordless, fingers weaving in and out of her red silken hair, until her cries became tiny sighs; little ripples in a still stream.

"I too have faced life-altering horrors. You learn to control them. They are a part of who you are, these painful memories. But they do not define you."

"But why do they choose to show themselves now?" She whispered back.

"You are vulnerable."

At this, Tauriel raised her head and looked at him. She could see in his eyes that his heart was breaking for her. She wanted to deny her vulnerability, but he was right. Assuaged by her feelings for the king, she had become breakable. Her hard exterior was washed away in his presence, and his was, too. With the lands around them crumbling into the brink of war, it was dangerous.

Still, if history has anything to say of the nature of Mirkwood elves, it is that they are more dangerous and less wise. If this was an inherited flaw, it remained to be seen, for out of danger breeds a will to live, and out of wisdom, a need to love.

"Stay with me," he murmured, clasping his fingers with hers delicately, "I would see the dawn upon your skin a thousand times over."

"You ask too much."

"No. I ask only what I know you can give. I do not ask the world of you, Tauriel."

"No," she breathed, and smiled wistfully, cupping his chin with a soft hand, "But your eyes do."

He was quiet. But under the soundless exterior, she could feel the resonance of his heart. She could not deny her own feelings, but she was not ready. The king was just beginning to understand that. She would stay. Of course she would. She could not bear to do otherwise. 

They would make love again several times before morning, less fiercely than before for care that one of them might shatter. He knew that once she left, she could be gone for days. She was afraid that everything was about to change, their world balanced by one pin that, if pulled, could cause everything to topple over into ruin.

\----  
*Laurinquë: A tree with "long-hanging clusters of yellow flowers" that grew in the province of Hyarrostar in Númenor, where it was brought from Tol Eressëa by the Elves. The name is derived from Quenya laurë 'golden'. I wanted to reference a tree that looked similar to Earth's ylang ylang, which produces a scent that is a known aphrodisiac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned to a few folks, chapter updates will continue to be slow. I work a full-time job, and am in a full-time band, which leaves me with ... approximately 15-20 minutes every few days to do writing. But I am trying! I really appreciate everyone's comments and kudos, and I'm so thrilled to see that this tiny little ship has been expanding.


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